


Infinite

by nastally



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Character Study, Child Death, F/M, Implied Relationships, Introspection, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastally/pseuds/nastally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Doctor, you sent Missy your confession dial. We both saw her die on Earth, ages ago. And obviously you knew that wasn't real. Or worse, hoped it wasn't." - After Missy's 'death', the Doctor goes looking for Gallifrey and doesn't find it. So he goes looking for Missy instead. They wind up in post-revolutionary Soviet Russia. Things do not go smoothly, to no one's surprise. And just what exactly is Missy planning this time?</p><p>Very Twissy. Much ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This is set straight after the flashback scene in 'Death in Heaven' where the Doctor fails to find Gallifrey, long before he meets Clara to lie to her and tell her that he did.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Missy's 'death', the Doctor goes looking for Gallifrey and doesn't find it. Devastated, he decides to look for something else instead...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set straight after the flashback scene in 'Death in Heaven' where the Doctor fails to find Gallifrey, long before he meets Clara to lie to her and tell her that he did.

 

 

“Doctor, you sent Missy your confession dial.

We both saw her die on Earth, ages ago.

And obviously you knew that wasn't real.

Or worse, hoped it wasn't.”

 

-*-

 

 

Once the rage subsided, he felt an overwhelming sense of desolation faced with the deep emptiness of space where his home planet should have been. He expected a barrage of reproach from the TARDIS for using her as a punching bag, but she remained silent. She understood.

She pitied him.

On his knees, clinging to the damaged console, the Doctor uttered a chuckle which sounded more like a sob.

Oh, but what an idiot he was! To think, even for a moment, that the Master would not delight in playing such a cruel prank on him.

_Missy..._

Anger took over once more and he pushed himself up, his face grim and fists clenched. He whacked the console one last time in frustration and turned away.

“I hope you're laughing, wherever you are!” His voice echoed through the empty console room. “I hope you  _choke_  on your laughter.”

A part of him braced itself for Missy's mocking cackle to erupt out of nowhere. But it did not. He was alone, well and truly. Silence swallowed his words and nothing remained but the TARDIS's familiar hum. If the Master was gloating, it was from very far away.

In truth, he hoped it was not as far as from beyond the grave.

_'You win.'_

_'I know.'_

The Doctor slumped down in a chair, defeated. It sickened him to admit just how much he did not actually want the Master dead. Even at this moment.

There was a myriad of reasons why he should, of course. He had seen it in Clara's eyes, had seen it before on so many of his friends' faces; The incredulous question:

'Why, why do you let this creature live?'  
But they didn't know. They could not see the bigger picture.

Clara did not know what had gone through his head in those moments in the graveyard when he turned on Missy with her own weapon. The disbelief in her eyes, the knowledge that the last time they had met, she had risked her very existence and saved his life. At what cost, he did not dare contemplate.

He had cast his thoughts her way.

'I am so sorry. I have to do this.'

Missy's mental defenses were so impeccable that he wasn't sure he could reach her at all. 'You know I have no choice. You have a plan. Please tell me you do. You always do.'

There was no reply.

In the end his inability to pull the trigger became inconsequential when a Cyberman gunshot disintegrated her in front of his eyes. Or so it had seemed.  
He didn't believe for a second that she was truly dead. Death did not suit the Master. Dying had always been for other people.

This much they had undeniably in common.

The Doctor rested his face in his sore hands. The urge to set the coordinates for Earth, find Clara, take her by the hand and whisk her off on a new adventure was very strong. To revel in her simple, bright presence. His friends, his companions; the ultimate escapism. It had always been so much easier to focus on their wonder, their needs and their safety, than to be left alone with the demons that awaited him in solitude. But it wasn't an option, this time.

There were two possibilities.

One; Good old PE had figured out that the bracelet could transport him back to the world of the living. What place did he, the Doctor, then have in their lives? He had made that mistake before, with Amy and Rory, and he would never make it again. This time, he thought, he knew when to bow out and let them live their lives the way they ought to.

Two; Danny Pink was still dead and Clara was still a devastated mess. It would be imprudent and cruel to let her travel with him in that state, whether she wished to or not. Plus, she was bound to start asking questions which he was not at all prepared to answer. She was bound to ask him about Missy.

The Doctor raised his head, staring at an empty blackboard across the console room.

_Missy..._

Of _course._

A new idea suddenly sparked up in his mind and spread like wildfire. He looked up from his hands, sat up in the chair. Straightened his shirt sleeves. He knew just what he had to do. It was obvious. Clara was not the only one who had questions. He had a few centuries' worth of them and there was only one person who could give him the answer. Whether she would or not was another story.

First of all, there was one thing he had to find out, even though he was all but sure he knew the answer:

Was the Master still alive?

 


	2. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can guarantee that there is no way I will be updating this quite so frequently in the long run, but you know how it is with the first few chapters, they just roll off the fingertips and onto the page.  
> So enjoy!

 

 

"Time travel has always been possible in dreams."

 

-*-

 

It had been about a fortnight and the Doctor was starting to feel rather embarrassed. He had come to the realisation that it had likely been exponentially easier for Missy to ride up and down his timeline like a roller-coaster, than it was for him to so much as locate her. His tendency to get side-tracked was of no help, of course. Two revolutions, several rescue missions, a close brush with death and a theatre festival later, and he was none the wiser.

The Master had always been excellent at keeping a low profile and disguising himself if needed. The Doctor, on the other hand, was just plain terrible at it. To think how much of his life Missy may have spied on without his knowledge put his stomach in knots. It was a very disconcerting notion.

\- - -

He had travelled back to the graveyard, mere seconds after Clara and his past self had left it, to search for any residue of a transmat beam or a teleport signal. There was no trace. This much he had expected, seeing as he had a good idea how Missy might have escaped. It had to be an old trick, one of his own, no less. But if that was the case, then the force of the Cyberman gun had almost certainly scattered the signal beyond recognition.

When the graveyard proved fruitless, he looked in other places. Places which he thought might hold some allure for his old friend-turned-adversary. Useful places like alien tech markets where one could obtain everything expressly outlawed by the Shadow Proclamation, dangerous places where only the most cunning or reckless dared tread, a few places of majestic beauty (the Master had always been a lover of fine aesthetics) and the odd intergalactic drinking establishment.

It was the latter he now found himself in. A lesser known star-traveller's respite on a dwarf planet, aptly and for lack of imagination called 'The Escape Pod'. The Doctor was sitting in a remote corner of the tavern, eyes hidden behind dark shades, not keen to be noticed or involved in the bar brawl which was currently threatening to break out between a couple of Slitheen and a Sontaran. A stench wafted through the place which could only be described as inter-species-orgy laced with filthy toilet. Not a scent anyone should ever have to endure, the Doctor thought, grimacing as he took another sip of his drink; a greenish viscous liquid which dissolved in the mouth into sickly sweetness mixed with the bitterness of hard liquor. Minyan nectar.

It was his third glass.

A thought had occurred to him, and not for the first time since he had begun his search. What if he was wrong? What if Missy was well and truly dead? The very idea seemed implausible. He had mourned the Master's alleged death so many times before, he could no longer accept it as true fact.

_'The one you left for dead...'_

He swirled the rest of his drink and downed it.

Not this time.

As the tavern doors closed behind him, the intoxicated Sontaran threw a punch at an unsuspecting Hath.

\- - -

Once back aboard the TARDIS, the Doctor steadied himself against the console and wiped his face with one hand. He felt drained.

Galifreyans needed much less sleep than many other humanoid species, but even a Time Lord needed to rest eventually. How long had it been now since he had allowed himself a decent sleep rather than briefly nodding off over a good book in the library? Frankly, he couldn't remember. Absent-mindedly setting the coordinates for a part of space he knew to be virtually empty, the Doctor left the TARDIS to drift and went to bed.

After the Time War, it had taken him about a century not to feel trepidation whenever he closed his eyes. The nightmares were morbid and relentless, forcing him to relive the horrors he had seen and been a part of over and over and over again. Ghosts came to him, to accuse, or worse, beg for their lost lives.

But time was a healer. If one had enough of it, even the most unforgettable of events lost their vividness as they were glossed over with new memories. Ever since his last incarnation had found out that Gallifrey was never destroyed after all, even pleasant dreams had returned to him. Sometimes he dreamt of red grass and snowy mountains untainted by blood and war. No gunfire, no sirens, no screams, just the sound of silver leaves blowing in the wind and those age old familiar faces he had despised at the time and now longed to see the most.

This was one of those times.

In the distance, the Citadel was glistening under the light of the second sun which never sets. It was late in the day, the sky a picture of orange and yellow. The moons had just become fully visible and what a spectacle they were, hanging above the snow covered peaks of Mount Cadon. He could feel the chilly breeze on his face, moving the grass all around him as he lay on his back, staring up at all of time and space. That old yearning for undiscovered worlds, unseen sights and adventures tugged at his hearts. He felt exhilarated and limitless.

Somebody was saying his name. His real name, so close to him that he could feel their warm breath against his ear. He was not alone, although the hand resting against his palm, the fingers entwined with his, felt as much a part of him as his own body. The other's mind, bright and exciting and comforting all at once, was right there at the edge of his own. He embraced it. Their heads rolled towards one another, foreheads gently colliding as their eyes shut and their minds' eyes opened. With an ease and trust that knew no bounds, they let each other in. Their thoughts danced together and created visions of the future no one else on Gallifrey, they thought, was dreaming up.

They raced across the stars fearlessly, like the children they had been and still were, racing down grassy red slopes so fast they thought their legs could not keep up with the pull of gravity. But if they fell, it was together. Slowly, their bodies began to become entangled too, following the example of their minds. Too innocent to seek a purpose other than to be closer, closer still until they were one against the rest of creation. The kiss was a necessity, not a surprise. To be so open to each other, so close, and not to melt into each other was impossible. They could have stayed like this for all eternity.

But something wasn't right.

The wind around them had picked up, tearing at their clothes and howling through the trees. He heard his name spoken again, more insistent this time. The feeling of wrongness persisted. His brain was trying to work it out through the haze of the dream. It was hard to focus, he didn't want to break the mental bond, but a sense of dread and the rumble of thunder were slowly closing in on him.

At last it clicked.

The voice.

It was outside of the dream, inside his head, and not congruent with the memory that had brought forth this dream reality. This voice did and did not belong to the young man he was embracing. _Wrong time, wrong place._

The Doctor's eyes snapped open to find the lush red grass gone, replaced by rust-coloured rock and dust. The air had a familiar taste. The sky was pitch black and he was lying on his back, unable to move as though paralysed. Missy's face was inches from his, her eyes wide and luminous. A storm was raging all around them.

"Say something nice." She whispered, cradling his face, fingertips on his temples. "Please."

Lightning tore across the sky, a blinding flash of blue. Somewhere in a graveyard on Earth, a death ray was fired. She threw back her head and laughed with abandon. The howling wind picked up the sound even as her body was disintegrated into thin air.

"No! NO!" The Doctor shouted, and sat up in bed.

The room was dark and silent. He remained very still for a few moments while reality came back into focus. His heartbeats returned to a regular pace and his body relaxed gradually. But Missy's voice, calling his name, still echoed eerily in his mind.

Slowly, he lifted one hand and lightly touched his temple. There was a distinct tingling sensation just behind his frontal lobe. Could it be...?

His brows furrowed.

Sleep was forgotten. Only minutes later, the Doctor strode into the console room with the fervour of a man on a mission. His hands danced over the controls purposefully.

_Rust-coloured rock, ancient dust._

As the TARDIS de-materialised, he pulled up a screen showing his destination:

**Karn.**


	3. Karn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor follows a clue and finds a new old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise - cross my heart - that Missy will actually appear in the next chapter. But I do like Ohila.
> 
> As a side note, I have not listened to any of the Big Finish stories or read any Doctor Who novels, so my take on the Master's past is just that; my personal take. I stay true to the TV canon only.

'Aren't we friends, Doctor?'  
  
'That's different, I don't like you.'  
  
'Which means you can trust me.'  
   
  
-*-  
   
  
"Doctor." The High Priestess greeted the approaching figure, well before she had turned to look at him. "The Sisterhood welcomes you."  
  
"I like what you've done with the place." The Doctor said, stepping out of the shadows. "Although I can't help but feel that it could do with another shipwreck and maybe some more rocks, just there."  
  
Ohila parted from the group of women she had been conversing with and came face to face with him. "What brings you to us, after all this time?"  
  
"Has it been so long? Why, you don't look a day older." His expression was entirely too serious for his tone. He knew she could see right through the facade. "Really though, have you ever thought about making this place ever so slightly more appealing? Maybe a sofa, an armchair or two. Add a bit of flair and reasonable comfort to lighten the mood."  
  
The High Priestess of the Sisterhood of Karn remained silent and waited. The Doctor raised his eyebrows and flashed her a slightly manic smile, casting a wary glance at the other priestesses. He gave them a small wave. "Ladies."  
  
"Leave us, sisters." Ohila called, not taking her eyes off him. The group of women disbanded silently at her command, disappearing into the caves.  
  
"I indulge you." She said, eventually. "There are no secrets in the Sisterhood."  
  
"I prefer my private conversations to be private." He told her brusquely, no longer the jester.  
  
Why was she scrutinising him like that? It was starting to make him somewhat uncomfortable, until he remembered that he had not come here with this face before.  
  
"It has been a long time, Doctor, even for a Time Lord." Ohila said, taking the thought right out of his mind.  
  
"Been busy." He shrugged, reinforcing his mental barriers. Friend or foe, he did not much like being an open book.  
  
Without a word, Ohila turned and began to walk towards a midnight black body of water. He found himself falling into step with her. She had an undeniable commanding presence and while he couldn't help but remain somewhat suspicious of the Sisterhood, after all these centuries, he trusted her.  
  
"I had a dream."  
  
"A dream?"  
  
"Well, not quite." His eyes had just now become fully adjusted to the darkness. There were torches in the distance casting a faint light, but it was not much. Still, the night sky of any planet in the Kasterborous system was rich with stars. A long time ago, one would have been able to see Gallifrey from here. "I think somebody meant for me to have it."  
  
"A vision then?" Ohila proposed.  
  
"I was hoping you could tell me." The Doctor studied the ground, suddenly questioning his own sanity. Surely he wasn't wrong about this. "It brought me here. I thought, perhaps... you had a message for me."  
  
"It isn't like you to speak in riddles, Doctor, and I must say it does not suit you."  
  
"Ohila..." He paused, rubbing his face. "Are you familiar with one of my people who calls... well, used to call himself the Master?"  
  
The High Priestess came to an abrupt halt, fixing the Doctor with a pointed stare.  
  
"I take that as a 'yes'."  
  
"It must be two millennia ago," Ohila glanced up at the stars thoughtfully. "I was only an initiate then. He came here not long before you paid us your first visit, Doctor. Many Time Lords have come to Karn hankering for the secrets to the Elixir of Life. The Master was one of them. The most impetuously determined on his quest for immortality since Morbius, equal in viciousness and superior in cunning. Morbius had an army behind him. The Master did not appear to think he was in need of one. Such arrogance. Of course, neither of them succeeded. But unlike Morbius, he left here with his life. Or what remained of it."  
  
The Doctor licked his lips, suddenly realising they were dry as he had stood there gaping at her. There was a great deal he did not know about the Master's life. Of course, it came as no surprise that the Master had attempted to get his hands on the Elixir of Life at the end of his original regeneration cycle. The Doctor remembered that withered creature. Rotting, dying – burnt? – flesh. The Sisterhood did have rather a penchant back then for burning Time Lords at the stake. Was it this visit to Karn which had rendered the Master in that state?  
  
"I really wish..." He sighed. "I really wish you would consider getting that sofa. Maybe a kettle, too. A cuppa would be nice."  
  
"Doctor?"  
  
"Ohila, I have a story to tell you. It might take a while."  
  
And so the Time Lord and the High Priestess of the Sisterhood of Karn sat on rocks and he told her. He told her of his childhood, of a friendship that endured through everything until it didn't, of betrayal and regret. Of the true fate of Gallifrey at the end of the Time War and the Master's presumed escape from the pocket universe. Of his return as the Mistress and the events surrounding Missy's 'death'.  
  
In hindsight, he was not entirely sure what had compelled him to. Perhaps it was the nostalgic charm of the Kasterborous sky, perhaps the Sisterhood's connection with his own people, perhaps Ohila's longevity and the understanding that comes with it. Perhaps just loneliness.  
  
But oh, how good it was for the hearts to speak to someone who could truly understand the significance of the things he spoke of.  
  
Once he had finished, they sat in silence for a while – or an eternity. What difference did it make to them, after all.  
  
"And what of the dream?" Ohila asked eventually.  
  
The Doctor shrugged. "The Master was always an excellent telepath."  
  
"After everything you told me, it would be hard to believe that she would send you a call for help."  
  
"Oh, most certainly not."  
  
"Doctor."  
  
He gave her a wry smile. Ohila shook her head.  
  
"You know what this is, Doctor."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"A trap."  
  
"I would expect no less."  
  
He picked up a flat stone and cast it towards the lake. It skipped on the water seven times and then sunk.  
  
The High Priestess rose to her feet.  
  
"In that case," She said, "I may have something to show you after all."  



	4. Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy is having tea with a future dictator while she waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit timey-wimey and very, very introspective.  
> Next one will have more talking and less thinking, I expect.

"The friend inside the enemy.

The enemy inside the friend.

Everyone's a bit of both."

 

\- * -

 

Missy was having tea with Joseph Stalin.

He was currently, as usual, raving on about his plans to seize power beyond his recent promotion to General Secretary. Comrade Lenin knew he was his main asset, a man who truly understood what needed to be done, the rule of the proletariat and blah, blah, blah.

Missy was bored out of her mind.

She liked the fellow, she really did, such a clever little brute even though he was only human. She appreciated his hunger for power and domination, his ruthlessness. Commendable traits, most certainly.  
But there were only so many hours in a day she was willing to spend watching this would-be dictator's mustache quiver angrily through the same impassioned speeches. A few more days of this, and she was sure she would be abandoning her decision to lie low and take over this country herself just for the heck of it.  
Clearly, the Doctor had trouble taking a subtle hint. Maybe that would get his attention.  
She could go to war with Germany before the Third Reich had time to gain momentum, now wouldn't that be droll. Fixed points in time be damned, but she was _bored._

Between the odd nod and 'certainly, dear' while she idly sipped her tea – she had been casually topping it up with cognac, until there really wasn't much tea left – her mind wandered.

How easy it would be to rise from her cushy chair, cross the distance, and snap that man's neck like a dry twig. And how cumbersome it would be to explain to the Doctor why she had irreversibly altered history.

Oh, she wished he would hurry up and show his face already.

He would. He had to.

She had made sure of that.

\- - -

"Where did you find this?" The Doctor asked, turning the burned-out vortex manipulator over in his hands as though it might have answers written on it somewhere. "It could be anybody's."

"If somebody had come with it, we would have felt it. It fell through the vortex onto our doorstep, Doctor, and now I understand why."

"But the amount of ships that have crash landed on your planet..."

"Doctor." Ohila stilled his fidgeting hands with hers. "The Sisterhood has not brought down a space ship in many centuries."

He met her eyes, then looked away, shaking his head with a joyless smile. "I see. Good to know someone listened to me, for once. Someone as stubborn as you lot, too." His fingers tightened around the vortex manipulator, which was broken, but very evidently not centuries old. With the help of the TARDIS, it would be no trouble at all to extract the coordinates of its last location.

The High Priestess stepped aside. 

Behind her, starlight fell in through the entrance of the cave.

"I believe you have your message."

\- - -

Missy was having tea with Joseph Stalin.

But that was later, much later.

Long before then, the Master was staring into the Doctor's eyes and he was mortally wounded and scared, but it felt more like anger, because anger was much easier to cope with. He was comfortable with anger.

Spite, and hatred and anger.

The Doctor, who was in a skinny, gentle, wide-eyed body, was clinging to him for dear life, sobbing. Actually sobbing and begging him to regenerate. Forgiving him. For every monstrosity, every pain inflicted, every attempt to murder him and everyone he cared about in cold blood.

Expecting to be forgiven in return.

'How dare you?' The Master wanted to shout in his pathetic, tear-streaked face. 'How _dare_ you?'

He wanted to claw at the Doctor's skin, beat him into a pulp, laugh until he couldn't breathe, lick the tears off his face, kiss him and strangle him and hold him forever and devour him alive.

“I win,” he whispered instead and refused to live, because in that moment it would rip the Doctor to shreds, and it did.

Not so much later, his body was re-born but dying, constantly dying, dying, and his mind had been driven to the brink of madness with the sound of drums. Fire burned through his veins, his hearts pumped pure rage and every one of his pores leaked life force. He was a star gone supernova, expelling the same amount of energy in a flash as one would in a lifetime. He was pure destruction and he was unravelling.

And the Doctor had the audacity not to be afraid. The audacity to still see in him who he was ceasing to be, and he didn't pull the trigger even as he pointed a gun at his head. Just then, just for a moment, in the Doctor's eyes, the Master _saw_ himself and it moved him to tears.  
That moment was enough.

He went to hell with the Time Lords and the Doctor lived.

The Doctor lived and saved Gallifrey, and saved him, and saved her, and then there they were, her weapon in his hands aimed at her hearts.

The Mistress was staring into the eyes of the Doctor and neither of them was afraid this time. Somewhere along the line, she thought, they had lost the ability to kill one another and mean it.

She heard his pleas, lapping at her mind like waves breaking on a cliff.  
Of course she did not deign to respond.  
Of course she had a plan.

\- - -

The TARDIS materialised without complaint, eliminating the possibility of immediate critical danger. The Doctor, relieved but wary, put on the handbrake and pulled up a screen only to confirm what he already knew.

Earth, Russia  
Moscow  
November 24th, 1922

He was parked by the wall of the Kremlin, a stone's throw from the Red Square, in post-revolutionary Soviet Russia. All in all, he had been prepared for worse.

His eyes fell on the tattered vortex manipulator connected to the console and he felt foolish.

In truth, he was in awe and decidedly alarmed. The Master and her calculating genius were well and truly alive.

His decision to look for her was no longer his own, it was her bidding he was doing. Unknowingly at first, and then quite willingly. A part of him was inclined to leave and not return in protest.  
He sighed and pocketed the vortex manipulator.

Who was he kidding?

'Curse you', he thought, and marched out through the TARDIS doors to seek his friend and find his nemesis.

\- - -

The time vortex had spat her out unceremoniously in the middle of a forest. Teeth clenched, grunting with pain, Missy had clawed at the vortex manipulator under her sleeve, finally ripping it off just before the overheating circuits had managed to sear a hole through her wrist.  
Well, this was just grand. The damned thing did not have another trip in it, at least not with her attached. She cursed at her burnt flesh and staggered through the trees until she came across a stream.

The sun was setting behind the tree tops while she knelt in the wet dirt, arm submerged to the elbow in icy water, slowly losing all feeling in her limb.

In her mind, while plans formed and events replayed, something stood out.

It had not been _him_.

Her eyes closed as she tilted her head to one shoulder, lips curling into a faint smile. 'Sentimental coward,' she thought fondly, 'you didn't fire.'

\- - -

Not two minutes out in the open and the Doctor was overcome with a strong desire for a certain woolly, long scarf. The Russian winter was in full swing, flurries of snow whistled around him. When he cast a glance back at the TARDIS, it was already half-covered in powdery white. He wrapped his jacket tighter around himself. The freshly fallen snow crunched under his boots as he approached the entrance to the Kremlin. Two rather grim-looking guards were eyeing him suspiciously, rifles at the ready. They meant business.

If he knew anything at all about the Master – and the Doctor fancied himself a bit of an expert on the subject – she would have certainly gravitated towards power and status.

So he pulled himself up to his full height, furrowed his brows and reached for the psychic paper.

\- - -

Somewhere in time and space, the Doctor slept.

In another time and place, the Mistress was in deep meditation.

Later.

But not much later.

Joseph Stalin was having tea with his mistress.


	5. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor finds Missy and all sorts of disturbing things occur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a long time to post, NaNoWriMo got in the way. For the record, this fic is already about twice as long as I intended it to be originally but I am certainly enjoying it. I hope you are, too. Not enough Twissy out there.

"Time Lords have an infinite capacity for pretension."

 

-*-

 

While night and snow fell, the Doctor wandered around the huge and imposing complex of the Kremlin, formerly the home of Russian royalty, but now occupied by Lenin's Bolshevik's. As per usual, he did not have much of a plan (yet) or any idea of where he was going. What he did have was a hunch and the look of authority and unwavering determination on his face. In most cases, this was enough to open a lot of doors and waltz right past unsuspecting humans oblivious to the fact that he really had no business being there.

It was all going rather smoothly, until someone just had to go and draw a gun.

Fortunately, the Doctor persuaded them not to shoot until he retrieved his 'credentials'.

Unfortunately, the man was a seasoned officer of the Russian secret service and would have mistrusted his own mother.

Fortunately and unbelievably, he still fell for the old 'What's that behind you?' trick just long enough to be temporarily incapacitated by an expensive-looking Persian wall carpet and a conveniently located flight of stairs.

Unfortunately, a door which looked deceptively like it might lead to another part of the building instead lead to a room with no escape route but the window.

And so, within an hour of his arrival, the Doctor found himself pressed up against the wall of the Kremlin Grand Palace, three floors off the ground, on an ornate ledge about five inches wide. Everything considered, the Doctor thought, things were not going so smoothly anymore. But it could have been worse.

This was confirmed when he began to edge towards the next window over, promptly lost his footing on the snow-covered ledge, and slipped. By some miracle, his fingers caught the ledge as he fell and he grabbed on to it, slamming into the wall and nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process. He craned his neck and peered down. Still too high to jump, nothing to break the fall but solid ground. He looked up. Windows lighting up, voices calling to each other, looking for him.

No time to waste.

Clinging on with one hand, he retrieved his sonic screwdriver, jammed it between his teeth and renewed his grip on the ledge. Then he swung himself to the side and let go, aiming for a window below and to the right. His feet hit the windowsill and he caught the top of the window frame. The momentum of his fall and the ice beneath his feet were not in his favour, but he was able to cling on for the mere moment it took to have the sonic in hand-

"Come _on_!"

-and force the window open. He tumbled into the room through a veil of thick velvet curtains amidst a flurry of snow and landed on his back, thoroughly winded.

In moments like these he was painfully reminded that this new-old body, while more lively than it appeared, was not as nimble as the last few. He grunted and slowly began to pick himself up, but something stopped him in his tracks. It was the realisation that the room was lit. And empty rooms were rarely lit.

He stilled and swallowed, tilting his head just ever so slightly to extend his peripheral vision while the feeling of being watched slithered its way up his spine.

"My dear Doctor," He heard her voice before he saw her. It was heavily tinged with amusement. "how nice of you to drop in like this."

The Doctor exhaled wearily and let his head fall back down to the floor with a soft thud. Relieved and dismayed in equal parts.

"It's you." He ran his hands over his face and through his hair, which was wet with snow. "Of course it's you."

"Say my name."

"Why? Have you forgotten it?"

"Please."

He snorted derisively. She could sound so deceptively gentle, in this incarnation. Shaking the melting snow from his hair, he hoisted himself up on one elbow and turned to look at her. The room was a spacious bed chamber, equipped with bookshelves, an armoire, a desk, armchairs and a large four poster bed. Missy was reclining in a chair next to the desk, Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment in her hands and delicate, round wire-frame glasses on the tip of her nose. The black skirt and dark purple button-up blouse she was wearing somehow managed to reflect both the period and her personal style perfectly. Her black lace-up boots were resting on top of the desk, ankles crossed.

"Master." He said, and quietly relished the miffed expression on her face.

" _Mistress_ , please. We've been over this."

"Yes, about that. I've been wondering." Brushing himself off, he got to his feet and gestured in her general direction. "Bit of a drastic change for you. Isn't it?"

She regarded him with a perfect poker face of indifference, then lowered her eyes to the book. When she spoke again, it threw him off more than he liked to admit. Not due to her words, but due to the fact that she had casually switched to their native tongue. "People change. I have existed in more shapes and forms than you know, this is hardly the most unusual." She licked her index finger and turned over a page. "Over a thousand years, Doctor."

"What?"

"Since the day you threw me back into the Time War. Do keep up, dear."

He shook his head in protest. "No, that's not what- you-"

"My point being-" She cast him a look over the rim of her glasses. "-that it was a very long time ago." The corners of her mouth lifted into a thin smile. "But nevermind that. Look at us now, both so old, and oh so _new_. I do love the taste of a brand new regeneration cycle, don't you?" Her chest rose and fell slowly as she closed her eyes, humming blissfully. "A billion Atto-Omegas of artron energy, burning through you like an ion storm."

"Yes, well." The Doctor cleared his throat and devoted minute attention to dusting himself off. Last time they had met, she had spoken English to him. First as a ruse, and then, he supposed, because there was no reason not to. He himself had long fallen into the habit of speaking English around his companions rather than letting the TARDIS translation circuit do the work. It had been a long time now, a very long time indeed, since he had heard somebody other than himself speak Gallifreyan. Hearing her speak it moved something in him, in a way he felt unable to control.

Missy interrupted his train of thought. "Now, tell me, is this supposed to be some sort of ill-conceived rescue attempt? Because if so then, my goodness, you are perfectly dreadful at it."

Before he could retort, the sound of footsteps caught their attention. They both turned to the door, then back to each other. Missy closed the book, eyes wide. "Well, go on. Hide."

He gave her a half-incredulous, half-exasperated look as though to say: 'Hide where?' Meanwhile, the footsteps slowed down just outside the room.

Missy pointedly nodded towards the bed.

" _NO_." The Doctor mouthed, brows furrowed. He was not getting under the bed.

There was a knock.

" _Yesyesyesss_." Missy mouthed back, waving her hand dismissively at him while she put her glasses aside and addressed the person at the door. "Who is it?"

"It's me," A male voice replied. "May I?"

The Doctor looked at the door, back at her, and shook his head vehemently.

Missy bit her knuckle with an amused, faux-innocent smirk.

"Certainly!" She called. "Do come in."

Shooting her a disdainful glare, he had no choice but to duck out of sight. While he crawled underneath the bed, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on a chamber pot, the door swung open. Heavy boots entered and Missy rose to her feet to greet her visitor.

"Dearest," The man said, rather affectionately. "am I interrupting?"

"Not at all. I was just reading."

The door closed and the boots stepped closer.

"Is something the matter, dear?" Missy's voice, sweetly innocent. "You are rather early."

Boots grunted. "I don't mean to worry you, but they found an intruder on the third floor. Probably a spy."

"Goodness me. How dreadful."

That sounded about as genuine as a three pound note, the Doctor thought, but Boots took no notice.

"Yes. He has fled the building, it would seem. Climbed right out of a third floor window, if you can believe it."

"Isn't that just extraordinary."

"He's an idiot, he won't get far. No one is getting in or out while the men are covering the grounds, and-"

Boots was busy crossing over to the window. "Why the devil is your window open?"

"I wanted some fresh air."

"Fresh air, eh?" The window was shut and curtains drawn. There was a hint of suspicion in his voice. "It's freezing outside. You'll catch your death."

The Doctor tensed, staring at the polished tips of Missy's shoes as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Boots did not sound like somebody to be trifled with.

"I was thinking warm thoughts." She offered, suggestively. Presumably, it had the desired effect. In any case it caused Boots to abandon his position by the window.

"Is that so?" He chuckled, coming up very close to her. "And what were those, if I may ask?" There was the rustling of cloth on cloth, a sharp intake of breath (Missy) and an appreciative hum (Boots). The Doctor grimaced, mildly horrified. Were they... _embracing_? 

"Asking a lady to tell her secrets? My, my, you naughty boy."

The Doctor found himself fervently wishing that he had leapt back out of the window instead of under the bed.

"You're right. Let's do away with all the talking."

Indeed, the prospects of a broken ankle in a snowstorm and the possibility of being shot on sight suddenly did not seem so bad.

"Splendid idea." Missy giggled coquettishly. But when she spoke again, her voice was commanding. "Sit down."

The bed springs groaned, raining down dust onto him. The Doctor silently contemplated that if he was going to be sick, that chamber pot might come in handy. Boots laughed, a sordid guttural sound, which all of a sudden petered out and became stifled. A few short moments and he fell silent altogether. Even his breathing had inexplicably slowed to an almost unnaturally even pace. The Doctor cocked his head, not sure he wanted to know and yet curious as to what was occurring.

"Listen to me." Missy's voice again. "You will listen to me. You will listen to my voice and you will obey me."

At this, the Doctor raised his head up so fast that he banged it on a metal slat.

"I am the Mistress and you _will_ obey me. Now open up."

Even as she finished speaking, the Doctor had rolled out from under the bed on the opposite side and was on his feet. Boots was sitting with his back to him and Missy was leaning over him, her fingers on his temples and her expression one of meticulous focus. After a moment or two she blinked and straightened herself up, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead with an air of nonchalance. The Doctor pointed an accusing finger at her, eyebrows furious.

"Don't tell me you couldn't have done that the moment he walked in through the door!"

Missy retreated towards the desk behind her and hopped up on it, crossing her legs. "And miss out on this flattering display of jealousy? I hardly think so."

"This-" The Doctor gestured to his face as he rounded the bed. "-is not jealousy. It's unadulterated revulsion. And..." He had come around just far enough to take a good look at the man sitting on the bed and did a double take. Then he stopped in his tracks, nonplussed.

"And that is Joseph Stalin." He stated flatly.

"Is it?" Missy uttered with feigned surprise while she studied her nails. "Gosh, I hadn't noticed. They all look the same to me."

The Doctor opened his mouth, closed it again, then tilted his head with a curious expression. "So. You are, then- excuse me for stating the obvious here- But you are, quite literally, his _mistress_?"

Missy's smug expression wavered a little. "I am quite literally _the_ Mistress, thank you very much. The definitive article."

"Oh." A grin spread across the Doctor's face. "So you're _everyone's_ Mistress then?"

Missy had picked up a sharpened pencil from the desk and was twirling it between her fingers. "So speaketh the man who has been luring pretty young things into his time capsule for two millenia. And you're insinuating I'm the sexual deviant?" With one quick flick of the wrist, she tossed the pencil right past his head and across the room. It hit a wall carpet on the other side and stuck. Missy rolled her head from one shoulder to the other, giving the Doctor – who had flinched noticeably – an exasperated look. "Relax, pet, if I was aiming for you you'd be missing an eye. This backward place and its carpets. I've had enough of them to last me my remaining lifetimes. And _no_ , for your information, I am not anybody's kept woman."

The Doctor shrugged and walked over to take a closer look at the man on the bed, who sat still like a statue, mouth gaping and eyes glazed. "This fellow certainly seems to think so."

"He thinks whatever I want him to think. That doesn't make it true." She slid off the desk in a catlike motion and placed a hand on the Doctor's shoulder as she came up behind him. They both studied Stalin's face. On closer observation, the Doctor noted, it was not entirely expressionless. His mustache quivered slightly and his eyebrows twitched.

"What _is_ he thinking?"

"He," Missy explained. "is in a hyper realistic dream state. You're right, I could have done it when he first walked in, but the results are so much better when one waits for the right moment, the moment of optimal suggestibility. You see, he is now living out whatever he had in mind when I took control of it."

The Doctor nodded, then thought about what she had said and backed up a few steps. "Right. I'm sorry I asked."

Hands on her hips, Missy glanced around the room and blew air out between her lips. "We better get going. Now just a tick..." She retrieved an envelope from the desk and placed it on Stalin's lap. Then she swiftly walked over to the armoire, pulled out a pair of fur coats and hats, and glanced back at the Doctor: "Well? What are we waiting for?"

"I- what's in the letter?"

"Goodbye." She shrugged. " _Some_ of us know how to say it. Now don't stand there like a grumpy deer in headlights. Let's scram."

\- - -

The Doctor didn't particularly like the bulkiness of the fur coat, the scent of dead beaver which clung to it or the way the fur hat tickled his ears. But it was, admittedly, a very effective way to blend in on this particular occassion. Still, expecting to simply stroll out through the Kremlin main gates when the place was on lockdown and probably swarming with armed search parties was folly.

Sure enough, they made it as far as the bottom of the main staircase before they ran into two soldiers.

"What exactly is your plan?" He muttered through his teeth, eyeing the armed men by the door who were watching them descend.

Hands deep in the pockets of her midnight-black mink coat, Missy smiled. It was not a smile the Doctor would have liked, had he been looking at her. "O ye of little faith."

"No killing." He hissed quietly. "I mean it."

She sighed in response and called out to them: "Comrades! Good evening to you."

"Good evening, Comrades." One of the soldiers replied, acknowledging Missy with a courteous nod and giving the Doctor the once-over. "I'm afraid we cannot let you pass. Increased security measures have been put in place and everyone in the palace is under house arrest until further notice."

"I'm quite aware of that." Missy replied. "However, my companion and I have special clearance from Comrade Stalin himself. I am to accompany this man to the Senate."

The soldiers exchanged a look.

"And who might your companion be?" The second man said, crossing his arms and eyeing them sternly.

"That is none of your business, Comrade commander." The Doctor retorted. "This is on a strictly need-to-know basis. If you would like to explain to Comrade Lenin why he was kept waiting when he is expecting crucial information on the counter-revolutionary movement then do go ahead and detain us longer.”

The second soldier fell silent, but the first piped up with what was probably a valid question. "Why is Comrade Stalin sending you?" He addressed Missy. "Why not go himself if this is so important?"

"My good man!" The Doctor exclaimed, believably scandalised. "There is a dangerous spy on the loose, possibly an assassin. And you expect Comrade Stalin to present himself on a silver platter?"

"Who better to send than an inconspicuous civilian?" Missy threw in.

"We have his explicit written permission. Are you questioning it?" The Doctor followed up.

"Show them, Doctor."

He pulled out the psychic paper and held it up to the men's faces.

The soldiers faltered, stammering apologies, and the two Time Lords swooped right past them and out of the door with an air of utmost importance.

The snowfall had not relented and a good two inches of the white stuff crunched under their boots as they walked.

"Am I correct in assuming your TARDIS is not within the Kremlin walls?" Missy said as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Correct. So how do we get out?"

"There is a tunnel system underneath the entire complex, dating back to Ivan the Terrible." She continued. "It's accessible through the cellar of the Senate building, and none of these dunces have a clue. It never occurred to them that the royal family died keeping a secret or two."

"How do you know about it?"

"I had it built."

The Doctor glanced at her, genuinely curious. "You were here during the reign of Ivan the Terrible?"

She scoffed. "My dear Doctor, give me some credit. I _was_ Ivan the Terrible. For a while, anyway."

"You-"

"Shush, now."

They had come around to the back of the Senate building and found a lone soldier stationed by an entrance door which, the Doctor assumed, must be leading solely to the cellar. To the Bolsheviks' knowledge, it held no strategic importance whatsoever. The fellow was young, barely a man, and clung to his rifle nervously at the sight of them. Clearly he had been stationed here to get him out of the way more than anything else, an inexperienced boy who would be more of a liability than an advantage in the hunt for a potentially dangerous intruder.

"One more thing, Doctor." Missy said, and before the boy could so much as extend a greeting, she pulled a pistol from her coat pocket and put a bullet right between his eyes. The unfortunate young soldier fell against the door and collapsed in the snow, staining it with fresh blood.

"I don't play by your rules."


	6. Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy and the Doctor escape and refrain from killing each other, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is some kind of Frankenstein's monster! It keeps demanding I attach new limbs and it's furiously growing into an epic tale. I hope you're all enjoying it.  
> I waited to watch 'Hell Bent' before I continued with this to see whether it would mess up my idea for this story. It did not! Hooray.

"Old friend, is she?"

 

-*-

 

It was the last day on the Valiant. The last day of the year that never was.

The Doctor – much younger and sadder then, perhaps kinder, too – knelt on the floor, beside the Master's dead body. The room was empty and silent except for the distant engine noise.  
Hands folded in his lap, head bowed, he knew he had been sat here staring at the body for long enough to make Martha, Jack and the rest of them wonder if he was still of sound mind. 

Scratch that. 

He was sure they had given up on his sanity the moment he had rushed to the Master's side when he was shot, cradling him and begging him to stay alive. Screaming at them to leave him alone, once he was dead. They did. They had most likely lost all respect for him.  
He would have, too, had he been watching himself. It was understandable.  
Only – right now – he could not bring himself to care.

It was Martha, of course, who appeared in the doorway eventually. She held a white cotton sheet and had a look of pity mingled with disappointment on her face. The Doctor met her eyes, breaking into a crooked smile.

"Martha Jones. Saviour of the Earth."

"Don't." She cut him off, strode up to him, and tossed the sheet into his lap. "You have no idea. No _idea_ what I've been through."

"You're right." He shrugged, soft brown eyes filled with all the love in the world and all the pain in the universe. "I don't. And I'm sorry, I am so sorry."

"Just-" Martha shook her head, averting her gaze. "Help me understand, Doctor."

"Martha, it's complicated-"

"Complicated?" The young woman crossed her arms and fixed him with a glare. "Getting out of Japan... was complicated. Evading certain death for the last year was pretty complicated. Watching people get _slaughtered_ everywhere I went because of _him_ -" She hissed. "That was complicated! So don't tell me it's complicated. Explain it to me! I'm listening. Because the only explanation I have, right now, is that you wound up with a bad case of Stockholm syndrome."

The Doctor looked down at the sheet in his hands. Slowly, he unfolded it and threw it over the Master's body. Then he rose to his feet.

"You lot have a saying." He said. "'Forgive and forget'. Back home, we used to have a different saying; 'Time forgives'." 

Martha frowned, but remained silent.

"We live such a long time, Martha. My people..." He stuck his hands in his pockets, balancing on his heels. "the Time Lords, in particular. When we regenerate, our minds are completely rewired. So you see, we've _got_ to."

"What?"

"Remember." He looked at her. "Human memories are blurry shadowy things, the more time passes the more you forget, but we..." He paused, choosing his words. The truth was that the Time Lord mind created an immaculate data bank of the Self. The Self had to be reviewed, stabilised and reaffirmed regularly throughout many lives. Memories served as an excellent tool. To forget the past was to lose oneself, a certain decline into madness. "We remember everything, and we never, ever forget. Weeellll..." He tilted his head to one side and shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, I forget little things like the name of a place or where I've left my key. But I can never forget _people_. Not unless I choose to, and even then... Time Lords are hardwired to remember their friends, their loved ones, no matter what. Every shared moment, every word spoken, no matter how much time passes. It's the only way to make sure relationships can endure centuries, millennia. I will never forget _you_ , Martha Jones, or this conversation we're having. Even if I live a million years."

Martha stared back at him. "So let me get this straight. Just because this- this _monster_ was your friend once, a long time ago, you can't hate him no matter what?"

"I hate what he did." The Doctor said quietly, sounding defeated. "But I can never forget who he once was. Who we were..." He swallowed, looking down at the shrouded figure. "It was all I had left of home."

Martha remained silent for some time. He knew she was trying to understand, needed to understand. "What will you do with the body?" She asked eventually.

The Doctor's voice was shaky, even to his own ears. "Burn it."

\- - -

"Missy- NO!" 

It was too late. 

The young soldier's body had already hit the ground and the Mistress stepped over it and tried the door, which was locked. Her hand lingered on the unyielding handle a tad too long, a triumphant smile on her lips.  
Oh, he was furious now, no doubt.  
It was good. He was always more fun that way.  
She turned to look at him, indicating the locked door. 

"It's locked. Sonic, Doctor."

He was just standing there like a log, staring at the crumpled body in the snow while voices echoed in the distance. Naturally, the shot had been heard.

"If you're quite done _caring_..." Missy rolled her eyes and pointed the pistol at the lock, taking a step back. There was no time now for his bleeding hearts.

"You always do this!" The Doctor was behind her, fingers tightening on her shoulder, before she could pull the trigger. "Why do you _always_ do this?" 

She spun back around to face him, freeing herself from his grasp.  
Their eyes met. To her surprise she was not greeted by the righteous rage she had been expecting. Not quite, anyway. There was something altogether different and much softer there, just behind the disdain, something which took away from her satisfaction and threw her off momentarily. 

"There was no need." He gestured towards the body, his face old and crestfallen. 

The Mistress smirked. Ah, _here_ it was. The reproach, the vain idea that he could bridge their disparate moral beliefs and convert her, redeem her, in other words; _win_. 

"Oh, but there _was_ , dear, there was." She cooed with an affected sweetness. "I can't have you mistaking me for one of your pet humans, blindly following you and doing your bidding-"

"No, no... no! Listen." He flung his hands up in frustration, ran them over his face. "You're proving a point, I see that. I know. And I am telling you that you don't have to. Don't you think I _know_ you?"

"If you did you would know better than to tell me what to do." Missy retorted, poking him with a gloved finger. "I will take lives when I see fit and you are very welcome to try and stop me, but don't think for a moment that you can _forbid_ me!"

“Ah, but that's just it! This, this here-” His gestures were trying to say what his words did not. “-it wasn't necessity or calculation, it was for my benefit only. You're showing off and you bloody well know it! And you're right. You're _right_ , I should know better. When I asked you not to kill, it wasn't an order. If I phrased it that way- force of habit, what can I say? But now I'm asking you.” He moved closer still until their faces were inches apart, voice urgent and eyes pleading. “You said- In the graveyard, you said you wanted your friend back. Did you mean it? If you did then give me just a shred of respect. Just this once. For old time's sake."

The Mistress found that she did not have a quip at the ready. They stared at each other while lanterns bobbed towards them through the falling snow.  
' _Of course I meant it, you fool_ ', she thought – privately, in a part of her mind locked down more securely than a TARDIS under siege. The difference between the graveyard and now, was that then, she had offered him the universe on her terms. She had even gone so far as to compromise, take a step back and let him lead, if he was willing to yield too and admit that their paths were not so different.  
But there was never any compromise with the Doctor. Now he wanted everything on his terms or not at all, and she would not, could not, extend that sort of trust to anyone.  
Not even him. Least of all him.

“That's all very touching.” Missy finally said, although her tone lacked the usual bite. “But we're about to be gunned down in three point one seconds, probably.”

In the nick of time, the Doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver and they ducked inside, slamming the door shut in the face of several bullets.

They hurried down a spiral staircase, lighting the way with a rudimentary compact torch Missy had produced from one of her pockets. There was only so much in truly useful gadgetry one could fashion with early 20th century Earth resources, but it would have to do.  
She lead the way and the Doctor followed, behind and between wine barrels, and through a small passageway which revealed itself by activation of an almost undetectable lever.

Once they found themselves in a tunnel, locked off safely from their pursuers and breathing dust and mildew, they kept walking in silence until they could no longer hear anything but their own footsteps and the persistent sound of dripping water. 

The Mistress began to hum. 

"Rachmaninoff." The Doctor stated after a while.

They walked for another quarter of an hour, side-stepping the odd rodent and rubble, until Missy had finished humming the entire piece. 

"And here I thought you had no love for the human race." 

In the faint make-shift torch light, it was impossible to make out his expression, but she thought she could hear a smile in his voice. 

"Love is a strong word, Doctor. It's my guilty pleasure, this little planet of yours. Great telly, or else I should have burned it to the ground a long time ago just to spite you." She hopped over a puddle, from one tunnel wall to the other. "Much like you did Gallifrey."

He stepped over the puddle but missed by a bit and cringed at the sensation of muddy water splashing up the back of his calf. "I didn't burn Gallifrey to spite you. As it turns out, I didn't burn it at all."

"Yes... and look where it's got us." 

They had come to a crossroads in the tunnel system. The Mistress paused for a moment, sniffed the air, and turned right. "We should come out on the riverbank about three kilometres south-west of the Kremlin in twenty minutes, give or take.” 

The Doctor acknowledged the information in silence, preoccupied with calculations regarding their exact location in relation to the TARDIS, educated guesswork as to how many weapons Missy might be carrying and the likelihood of their current tentative truce lasting past sunrise.  
The ground was becoming increasingly more mulchy and slippery. Judging by the way the tunnel sloped downward they were passing underneath the river. Although temperatures outside were sub-zero, underground the streams and puddles had not frozen. The Doctor had the disadvantage of walking slightly behind Missy – who had begun to hum again, this time a polka – with very little light to see where he was treading. In front, she made her way surprisingly steadily, considering she was wearing heeled shoes.  
The Doctor briefly wondered if the Master had spent some length of time practising walking in heels following their last regeneration. The thought was strangely amusing and made him snort quietly.  
Not one to miss a thing, Missy whirled around and blinded him with her torch.

"Something funny?"

He tripped on a rock but managed to regain his balance semi-gracefully. Shielding his eyes from the light with one hand, he flashed her a toothy smile.

"Most things are, if you think about them long enough."

Missy cocked her head and regarded him curiously for a moment before she turned away. "Well, ain't that a relief. I was starting to think you'd lost your sense of humour entirely in this regeneration."

"You might see me laugh more often if you weren't always intent on murdering my friends." 

"Poppycock!" Missy exclaimed, in English. There was no Gallifreyan translation for 'poppycock', and she found the word particularly apt. "All I was doing was giving you a very lovely, thoughtful gift, and you went and threw it back in my face. In fact," She wagged her finger like a cross school teacher. "now don't lie, Doctor. _You_ were going to murder _me_ if that rogue cyberman hadn't got there first.” She fixed him with the torch light to emphasise. “I haven't forgotten that."

"Is that a threat?"

"If you want it to be."

The Doctor shrugged with a sigh. "I knew you'd have something up your sleeve."

"Quite literally." Missy grumbled. "Blasted thing almost burned my arm off." 

They fell silent and ducked through a particularly low part of the tunnel, water dripping all around them. Then the tunnel curved around to the left, where the path gradually began to rise again. The corridor had narrowed and they found themselves brushing shoulders in the dark. A part of him noted that this should not have felt as comfortable as it did. He reasoned that, for one, they were not currently on opposing sides. When the conflict was taken out of the equation, that age old familiarity always remained.

"Doesn't this remind you of the time we got lost in the caves?" She suddenly said, as if she had read his mind, although he was certain that she had not.

"Which caves?"

"In the woods, past the estate."

"Oh yes, Mount Perdition." The Doctor frowned. "That was dreadful. If it hadn't been for that gang of shabogans..."

"I've never been happier to see shabogans in my life."

"Your father was furious."

"Naturally! We'd been missing for three days and you dragged me in half-conscious and threw up on his ceremonial robes."

The Doctor chuckled. "It was the mushrooms."

"I told you not to eat them."

"I told you not to drink from a puddle, you were housebound for days."

"Oh, well, that's because my father..." She trailed off. 

They walked side by side in silence for a while, each ruminating on their past and how it had come to this, the present. 

"Where is it?" The Doctor asked quietly. 

"Where's what, dear?"

She knew, of course. He knew that she knew, and she knew _that_ too. 

"The coordinates. I looked." He expected some form of derision to follow, but instead Missy just shook her head. 

"I can't help you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" He tried to catch a glimpse of her face in the dim light. 

“It means...” She was quite evidently evading his gaze as much as his question. “I don't know. I lied. I have no idea where it is. Or how to get back.”

The Doctor stopped, staring at her silhouette until she stopped, too, a few metres ahead of him. 

“You're lying right now.” He told her.

Missy looked back over her shoulder. “If you think so.”

“Tell me. Please.” He caught up with her. “Missy-”

“I told you, Doctor.” She continued down the tunnel. “I can't help you.”

\- - -

Joseph Stalin was not aware that his recollection of the last two hours was not entirely consistent.  
That is to say, he _was_. But every time his mind turned to one of the things which did not quite add up – 

Had he fallen asleep?  
How could he not have woken when she left?  
Who had made the bed?  
When did he get dressed?

– a thick haze, like inebriation, clouded his thoughts and made it impossible to focus until he no longer knew what it was he had been thinking about. Every time, his mind was lead back to one thing, as though guided by an invisible force.  
This seemed strange.  
Didn't it?  
No.  
This did not seem strange to him.

Everything made perfect sense. He had come to see her, they had made love, he fell asleep for a half hour, found her gone upon waking and the letter on the pillows. He held it up, scratched his chin thoughtfully, and opened it.

\- - -

The snowfall had abated when they emerged on the south bank of the Moskva river. The Doctor, boots caked in mud and trousers filthy to the knee and Missy, miraculously clean skirt hem swishing over the freshly fallen white powder. They stopped next to each other and drew deep breaths of frosty, clean air.  
The Doctor looked out over the river, which was frozen shore to shore, towards the Kremlin in the distance. It was apparent that going back for the TARDIS immediately would be foolish. Leading the Master right back to it would be more foolish still.  
He turned to look at her. In the dim light, her face was a ghostly pale shadow, contrasted by the black fur of her coat and hat. She was peering off into the distance in the other direction, towards the western outskirts of the city.

“I suggest we return for your TARDIS at dawn.” 

“Hmm.” The Doctor nodded. The cold was numbing his face and he really wished he could get out of this ridiculous coat and wash up somewhere. “So how do we spend the night?” 

Missy's eyes did that unnerving thing, widening impossibly, pale blue ice boring into him. Then she cast him a coquettish glance from beneath her lashes. “It's certainly been a while since you asked-”

“Shut up.” He snapped brusquely, attempting to retreat into his coat and hat like a tortoise. “You know what I mean.”

Hands in her coat pockets, the Mistress extended one foot out and pushed off, letting herself glide forward on the ice covered river. “There are options.” She shrugged, turning around on her heel and sliding backwards rather gracefully while facing him. “I'm going to go ahead and assume you prefer the boring ones.”

“I prefer the ones involving no casualties.” The Doctor retorted. 

“A guest house, then.” She smiled. It was strangely menacing. “I don't know about you, but I could murder a cup of tea.”

With that she turned away and began to half walk, half skate across the river, moving confidently towards the other side. When the ice beneath her produced a disconcerting cracking sound she whooped and went faster.  
For a while he simply watched her, wondering if he would find it in himself to help her if she fell through the ice. Of course, he knew she would not. And of course, he knew that he would.

“COME ON!” Missy shouted from halfway across the river, where the ice cover was considerably thinner. She performed a little tap dance which produced cracks beneath her feet and knots in the Doctor's stomach. The ice held, just. “Oh, don't look so cross! You used to be fun once!”

“You used to be sane once!” The Doctor shouted back. The sound of her laughter echoed back to him in response. “And so was I.” He added under his breath, following reluctantly, but not without the hint of a smile.


	7. Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy and the Doctor ruin each other's plans, but surprisingly, nobody dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe me, nobody is more surprised than me that this has somehow turned into a massive story with actual plot, rather than an excuse for smut. I had to cut this chapter in half, and it's still very long as it stands. So the next one will be hot on its heels, hopefully.

“As we learn about each other, so we learn about ourselves.”

 

\- * -

 

November 25th, 1922  
Later

The Doctor stumbled backwards and hit the brick wall behind him.

Her slight appearance in this regeneration was deceiving, she had lost none of her ability to throw a mean punch. He had been at the receiving end of the Master's right hook enough times to be the judge of that. Missy shook out her gloved hand, flexing her fingers, while the Doctor gingerly clicked his jaw to check if it was still in place, glowering at her from beneath his eyebrows. He had a mind to be very angry at her for punching him, but there were mitigating circumstances.

Such as the fact that she had, in all fairness, just saved his life. 

"You _drugged_ me!" She hissed, eyes pure frenzy and her usually immaculate updo disheveled from the motorcycle ride.

"Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't notice." He said, wisely choosing to keep his distance in case she wasn't done throwing punches at him and perhaps until she had stopped glaring at him with murderous intent.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, it occurred to him that he had not seen her like this. Not in this body. Unhinged, furious. In the last regeneration he had encountered, the Master had been a hurricane of rage, delighting in constant cruelty, chaos and destruction. Her current incarnation, on the other hand, seemed far more in control of herself. Callously whimsical rather than outright sadistic. But in this moment, the seething madness showed through the cracks of this perfectly kept facade.

"Of course I noticed, I'm not a moron!" Missy retorted, looking a lot as though she might pounce on him, but she did not. Instead she raised her chin up and straightened, attempting to regain some of her composure.

\- - -

The Mistress considered her reputation a thing well earned and well deserved.  
Those who knew her or knew of her called her many things; a tyrant, evil, mad, cruel, egotistical, ruthless, sadistic, a cheat. Most of these things were compliments in her eyes, for it was better to be feared and despised than well-liked and forgettable. Well-liked people were always forgettable, it was the universally loved or the universally hated who were memorable, who made history, and she had realised very early on that she would never be the former. That had always been the Doctor, long before he was the Doctor, with his unique charisma, his spontaneous affection and his inspired unorthodox ideas. She had never stood a chance next to him. The choice was to forever walk in the shadow of his luminescent person or become his polar opposite. 

The day she had realised that, so many, many years ago, was the day the Master was born. 

Being bad was more fun, anyway.

Even the sainted Doctor knew that, but he had the uncanny ability to somehow redeem all his questionable deeds and make them appear _good_.  
So what if he had been guilty of the genocide of alien races and his own species? It had all been for a good cause, he was saving the entire universe, don't you know, who could blame him? After all, he blamed himself, he was the very poster child of repentance. So everyone continued to love him, despite and - unbelievably - _for_ his actions. 

She had blamed him, of course. In her last incarnation, she had detested him with a passion for destroying Gallifrey. A year of keeping him prisoner on the Valiant and torturing him and his friends had certainly alleviated that rage a little. Even he knew he had deserved every day of that year, she realised, when he proclaimed his forgiveness the moment it was all over.

And so the Doctor shone and she burned, and they called him a god, a saviour, a healer and a warrior. 

What she took issue with, however, was that few but those who knew him well ever called him a liar when in actual fact he was one of the most notorious liars of all. And yet, a lot of the time, that accusation was also thrown at her.

It was very unjust, she thought. She was many things, but being a liar was not among her most prominent traits. Deception was a different story, she was formidable at that, of course. But they were not one and the same thing.

Exempli gratia, she had not lied to him about Gallifrey's coordinates. She had merely omitted that it had undergone a significant displacement in time.

She had also been truthful about the letter she had left with Stalin. It _was_ a goodbye. It also just so happened to be a confession, revealing herself as an anti-Bolshevik spy, along with an entirely fabricated story about an imminent attack which would re-start the civil war, and a crucial new weapon which had been prepared and hidden in plain sight, much like a Trojan horse, inside a big, blue box somewhere on the very perimeter of the Kremlin.

\- - -

November 25th, 1922  
Earlier

"No, no, no, no, NO!" The Doctor rushed toward the spot where the TARDIS had stood and stared at the ground as though it might give him answers, then up at the sky, and eventually turned in a circle. "Impossible! It can't be gone! How can it be gone?!"

It was, in all fairness, not impossible. Just highly improbable. For the TARDIS not to be where he had left it, somebody would have to have seen past the perception filter and had the means to have it transported away. Unless somebody had been knowingly looking for it, or even been aware of its location, but how? What was he missing?

The roar of an approaching motorcycle interrupted his train of thought, to his annoyance. At first he tried to dismiss it like the bothersome buzz of a mosquito while he attempted to make sense of the situation.  
However, for some reason his mind insisted that there was something very significant about the sound.

At last, he realised what that was.

It sounded very much like this motorcycle was headed directly for him.

\- - -

November 24th, 1922  
Night

"You know, there are two beds." Missy stated, glancing over at the twin beds placed against either wall of the small, musty room they had been given. "We could have a lie down."

The Doctor, who had been busy blowing on his tea, looked up at her. "Go ahead. I think I'll pass on the opportunity to be willingly unconscious in your presence."

"That's fair." She sighed, taking a sip of her tea. "I _was_ going to decorate your forehead with an enormous- Just a minute, are you implying I should trust _you_ enough to sleep?"

He gave her a slightly mischievous grin. "I never said that. If you do that's on you."

They regarded each other for a long moment, not without appreciation for the irony of their current circumstances. Sitting around drinking tea as though they were old chums (which they were) and not sworn enemies (which they also were) was not usually part of their encounters in their more recent history.

"Nobody sleeps then." Missy concluded.

"Cheers to that." The Doctor said as they clinked cups.

\- - -

November 25th, 1922  
Earlier

He whirled around and stared in the direction which the sound was coming from, looking for the motorcycle. Dawn was just breaking and his surroundings had not yet reached a full spectrum of colour, nor could he make out more than dark silhouettes at a greater distance. However, one glimpse of the shadowy figure riding the motorcycle head on in his direction was enough to stop him dead in his tracks.

"You've got to be kidding me."

For one, he could not believe that she had followed so closely on his heels despite the precautions he had taken. He knew he should have tied her up, he thought, while instinctively backing away from the rapidly approaching vehicle.

As she came closer it became apparent that was shouting something, but he could not hear it over the rattle of the engine. He stopped where he stood and narrowed his eyes, focusing on the sound of her voice until his mind computed the message.

  
_Get_

_Down_  


There were few scenarios in which those words did not turn out to be solid advice, even coming from the Master. So the Doctor did as he was told and ducked, just in time for a bullet to whiz past him and hit the snowy ground.

\- - -

November 24th, 1922  
Night

"I'm surprised they made us tea." Missy ran her fingers over the faded table cloth, scrunching up her nose at it. What a shame, really. She knew of about a dozen guest houses which would have been far more pleasant to spend the night in, but could go to none of them for fear of being recognised. "It's not exactly the Ritz."

"I made it myself." The Doctor shrugged. "After I convinced the, erm, lovely housekeeper downstairs to let me use the samovar."

"She's a barrel of laughs, that lady." The 'lady' in question was an elderly woman sturdier than a workhorse and about as pleasant as an irritated prison guard. "I was wondering what was taking you so long."

She sipped her tea and leaned back in the chair to stretch out her legs, then suddenly stilled. Her eyes wandered very slowly to the pale brown liquid in her cup. _No..._ , she thought, carefully analysing the taste on her tongue. The dash of lemon was doing a phenomenal job concealing it, but there it was, just a hint. _You bastard._ Very calmly and deliberately, Missy lowered her cup and placed it on the table. The surreptitious glance the Doctor cast at it, before quickly averting his eyes to study some floor boards, did not escape her. In fact, it confirmed that she was not mistaken.

He had most definitely spiked her tea.

Missy tilted her head and smiled with malice behind her eyes, while her mind raced to form a plan of action. If she confronted him now, what good would that do? She hadn't drunk much, but she had a very good idea of what he had given her, and it was enough. Fifteen minutes, give or take, before the sleep serum would take effect. He was currently doing a terrible job trying to appear as though he was not watching her out of the corner of his eye, probably beginning to wonder if she had worked it out.  
She crossed her ankles and stretched, appearing not in the least perturbed.

"Funny, isn't it?" Lifting her cup to her lips again, she pretended to have another sip. The Doctor relaxed almost visibly. He was so bad at this, it would have been hysterical, if she hadn't actually fallen for it. "I swear it's been an absolute eternity since we've had an innocent little chat. How _have_ you been, Doctor?"

"Can't complain." He turned sideways on his chair to face her, one elbow on the backrest. "Time and Space. Same old. Two regenerations since I last saw you, still adjusting to this one, if I'm honest. And yourself?"

"Marvellous, really." Missy looked at her nails. "Exciting stint in prison after I almost sent the Lord President back to his grave. You wouldn't believe the measures the High Council considers just retribution for the attempted murder of Rassilon the Resurrected." She made a comically outraged face at him. "Not one creative thought in millennia, but when it comes to punishments they're full of ideas." 

"I'm sorry." The Doctor said quietly and meant it. He drew a breath, paused, then added: "Do you want to-"

"No." She cut him off, fixing him with a wide-eyed stare that forbade any further serious discussion of the topic. "I do not. Want to talk about it. And you can keep your pity." 

He dropped his eyes to his cup of tea, swishing it around. "So he survived then?"

"Rassilon?" Missy sighed. "What did you expect? I defy anyone to try and kill that cockroach of a man."

\- - -

November 25th, 1922  
Later

They were in an alleyway, having lost their pursuers. Nobody who did not have business outside their home was venturing out in the cold, and so the smaller streets felt quiet and abandoned. The engine of the motorcycle beside them was steaming and producing the tinny clicking sounds of rapidly cooling metal.

"For your information, I noticed three sips in." Missy took off one of her gloves and tucked away the strands of hair hanging loosely across her face. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold. "Too late, I knew, so I poured the rest into the vase while you weren't looking and figured I'd come round in time to stop you."

"Ah." That would explain why she was here now, furious with him, and not still passed out cold at the guest house.

"I must say, I'm impressed." She went to put the glove back on and busied herself with it unnecessarily, not looking at him. "Spiking drinks, I didn't think it was your style, Doctor. It's certainly mine."

"I'm not proud of it." The Doctor conceded quietly. "But I had to, it was the only way I could... make sure..."

"Excellent choice of sedative. Almost undetectable. You put too much, of course. Amateur." Missy chuckled dryly. "Really, Doctor, it's positively comical how much you like to refute our similarities when our ways of thinking are so obviously alike."

"Oh, please. Don't give me that old spiel."

"How can you deny it!" She met his eyes again and for just a second, he thought she looked hurt, but anger overshadowed it quickly. "We both know you only came running to find me on the off chance that I might tell you where Gallifrey really was, and when it turned out that _that_ wasn't the case, you decided to leave me stranded here, no means of space or time travel. I applaud you, it's exactly what I would've done! Too bad somebody nicked your ride."

"What?" The Doctor looked taken aback, then bemused as he shook his head. "Is _that_ what you think I was doing? Trust me, you're dead wrong."

\- - -

November 25th, 1922  
Earlier

He whipped his head around, following the bullet's trajectory, and spotted the sniper on the Kremlin wall. More were joining momentarily.  
They took aim and he threw himself sideways and out of the way of several shots.

"Doctor!" 

She was close enough for him to hear her clearly now. Scrambling to his feet, he turned back towards her and realised she was almost upon him. Coat billowing behind her, she stretched out one arm towards him and slowed down just enough.  
Maybe.  
He certainly hoped so.  
At this point there was not much of a choice.

The Doctor lunged forward and caught her hand, while Missy yanked the handlebars around and turned, wheels skidding considerably on the icy cobble stones. Remarkably, the momentum was just right. He leapt onto the back of the motorcycle and managed to fling one arm around her before they sped off with bullets raining down in pursuit.

\- - -

November 24th, 1922  
Night

"There's just one thing," The Mistress tried to focus on her current thought but it was slipping away from her. She knew the reason why, of course. Although now that she came to think of it that was slipping away from her too. "One thing I want to know. Why are you soooo desperate to go back?"

"Because I have to." The Doctor watched her closely, fairly certain that she would succumb to the sleep serum any moment now. 

"But whyyye?" She drawled, rolling her head from one shoulder to the other. She tried to prop up her chin on her hand and failed. It took his most valiant effort to keep a straight face when she almost whacked her forehead on the table. If she woke up and remembered any of the last five minutes, laughing at her would not help his case. Then again, once she woke up and remembered, nothing in the universe would help his case. He was never going to hear the end of it. Forgiveness had never been the Master's strength.

"Because it's my responsibility, I need to know what became of it.” He shrugged. “And I miss it, I suppose. Not what it was in the war, but what it used to be. Don't you miss it?"

"Pffft." Missy made a face and nested her head down on the table in the nook of her arm. "Miss it... not in a million years. Bunch of... boring old-" She proceeded to use a profanity here which he had not heard her utter since their academy days. It had no direct translation into any other language, which was probably for the best. "Expiring from sheer... mind-numbing... boredom."

The Doctor snorted and shook his head with a grin, no longer trying to hide his amusement. "Yes, well. Good point, well made. I don't know what I was thinking." He cleared his throat and looked at the top of her head with genuine fondness. "I wonder sometimes, what if we'd stayed? We could've made a difference, I think. Some of us... if we had worked together. But we were all too young and too..." He trailed off. 

There was no reply. Her breathing had slowed to an even pace.

"Too scared." He added, to himself, and leaned forward, glancing into her tea cup to find it empty.

Leaning back again, he remained in his chair for a while, lightly drumming on the table with his fingertips. It was not even midnight, he was not going to risk venturing anywhere near the Kremlin until the early morning. He looked over at the beds, then back at her. 

He had hours. 

With a sigh, the Doctor rose to his feet and somewhat awkwardly scooped the Mistress up from her chair. He lay her down on one of the beds and slowly pulled his arm out from beneath her neck. As he did so, her head rolled onto his hand, cheek to palm, and she stirred. For a moment he froze, unreasonably worried she might wake up, which he knew was altogether unlikely. 

“Missed...” She breathed, barely audibly. Her eyelids fluttered and he did not move. “Missed it.”

The Doctor swallowed, crouching beside the bed, her warm breath on his palm, until her body relaxed again and her restless eyes stilled behind her lids.  
Or, perhaps, he remained where he was for an unnecessarily long time after that before he finally freed his hand and sat on the other bed, closing his eyes. But if he did, it was for him to know and for no one else to find out.

\- - -

November 25th, 1922  
Later

"Trust you. Trust _you_!" She threw her head back and laughed. It was a chilling joyless sound. "The man who runs away! Oh, I trust you. I trust you to make a run for it first chance you get."

"Shut up!" He stepped closer to her, becoming increasingly prepared to retaliate in kind if she wanted a fight. "Shut up. I was coming back for you, against my better judgement, actually. Look at me and tell me I'm lying."

They glared at each other for a few moments. 

"But you drugged me." She repeated slowly. "And left."

"Well, yes, _sorry_ about that! But last time you came near the TARDIS you gutted her and turned her into a paradox machine-" He pointed an accusing finger at her. "so you'll have to forgive me if I wasn't going to let you waltz right in! She remembers, you know. She would have probably refused to dematerialise or thrown us into the void out of spite. I thought if I brought you in unconscious she'd feel a bit less... threatened." He paused. The Mistress was looking at him, unblinking, incredulous. "What? Don't look at me like that, I'm serious. You have no idea how temperamental she can be."

"You mean to tell me that you did all this to spare your ship's feelings?" She took a few steps back, eyeing him with a mixture of suspicion and the way one might look at somebody who was clearly not all there. "Have you actually, legitimately gone _insane_?"

"What else was I going to do?" He replied gruffly, turning away and putting a few paces between them. "I considered asking you if you would let me restrain you before coming aboard, would you have agreed?"

Missy cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "That rather depends, dear. Maybe if you'd asked me nicely." When he didn't respond, she continued sarcastically: "What was your end game? Lock me in a padded room and wait until your TARDIS and I work out our differences and become besties?"

He glanced back at her over his shoulder. "No. I was going to take you to wherever you needed to go to have this fixed." Turning back around to face her, he reached into his pocket, retrieved the vortex manipulator and tossed it to her. "Then suggest we go our separate ways. Because," He scoffed. "we both know you only lured me here so that I could be your means of escape."  
Suddenly, his eyes darkened.  
"Unless it was you-" He took a step towards her. "Missy. Where is my TARDIS?"

She held his gaze, serious and unwavering. "Really, Doctor? Your defunct TARDIS, broken chameleon circuit, sticking out like a big blue sore thumb, goes missing, so _naturally_ it's my fault? When and how exactly, in the last twelve hours, could I have alerted anybody who matters to its presence or its location?"

That was a good question. "I don't know that, but you're clever." He narrowed his eyes at her. "You probably found a way."

"Well, that's very flattering and too right I am." Missy pocketed the vortex manipulator and crossed her arms. "But then ask yourself this: If I had set you up, presumably to steal your TARDIS, why did I lead you out of the Kremlin? You saw I had connections, surely I could have simply had you captured and taken your keys. Why did I spend a night cooped up in a disgusting guest room and why did I follow you this morning, if it was not to stop you from leaving without me? Had I known the TARDIS would be in my hands and you would be gunned down, would I not have stayed right where I was and sat back with a smile, relishing the knowledge that you were shot on sight as per my command?"

As she spoke, she had closed the distance between them until they stood almost chest to chest, staring each other down.  
The Doctor frowned at her for a long moment. He had to admit that he could not quite connect the dots. Why indeed had events unfolded this way if what she had been after from the start was his TARDIS? It didn't make sense. He knew he was missing something, something obvious, but it refused to come to him.

"Fine." He sighed. " _Fine_. So then... Where is it? Who took it? Who could have _possibly_ known to take it, Missy?" He ran his fingers over his face, feeling exhausted.

"I don't know, but I suggest we find out." She said, and held out her hand to him. "Until then..."

He looked at her questioningly. "Until then what?"

"Truce." She shrugged. “It would rather help things along. Let's make it official.”

The Doctor blinked, hesitating. "One condition."

"Go on."

"No killing."

"What about manslaughter?"

" _Missy._ "

Missy sighed and smiled, almost obligingly. Almost _too_ obligingly. "Aright, alright."

"Truce, then." He agreed, and shook her hand, inadvertently feeling as though he was making a deal with the devil.

"Lovely, now that's settled." She gestured at their surroundings. "Where do we start?"

"I suggest," The Doctor gave her a wry smile. "we get ourselves arrested."


	8. Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more things change the more they stay the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a little nervous about this one! I love Academy!Era Doctor/Master and I would hate to get it wrong. I hope this does it justice. Also, as I said before, I have not actually read any of the books and I'm predominantly going with TV show canon, with a few exceptions. But I am aware of most of the stories from books and audio and like to keep things ambiguous so there are no glaring contradictions.

"Try, Nano-brain, to rise above the reproductive frenzy of your noisy little food chain and contemplate friendship. Friendship older than your civilization, and infinitely more complex."

 

-*-

 

A long time ago, in a constellation far away by the name of Kasterborous, there was once a boy who was sad, ashamed and scared. There was also another, and he was calling his name.

“Thete.”

Silence. 

“Thete.”

He didn't reply, didn't open his eyes. 'Go away', he thought – loudly.

The door closed and the footsteps came to a halt at the end of his bed.

“Theta.”

He bit his tongue, pressing his face into the pillow more firmly. If he lay here long enough and didn't react, surely he would be left alone. 'Didn't react,' he thought – quietly. 'Ironic.'

“Theta Sigma.” A beat. Then an exasperated sigh, followed by his real name. When that got no reaction it was followed up with: “Halfwit. Lowborn. Pissface. Time Loser.”

He groaned in frustration and pulled the pillow from his face, angrily tossing it in the other's direction. To his annoyance, it missed.

“WHAT.” He snapped. “Go _away_ or I'll punch you too, I'll do it, just try me!”

The other adolescent rounded the bed and crossed his arms defiantly. “Go on. I'm not scared of you.”

\- - -

The Doctor's plan was straightforward.  
The TARDIS had to have been moved by the military. It was _always_ the military.  
The Mistress had neither agreed with that theory nor proposed a different idea, so as far as he was concerned it was their best bet.

"You've been here a while." He said conversationally over a spot of late breakfast at a small restaurant she had brought them to. "What do you think our chances are of making it out alive and in good time if we're arrested?"

He was sure of one thing. The CheKa, post-revolutionary Russia's secret service, had to have an idea of what had happened to his TARDIS. That information would be easier obtained from the inside, so all they had to do was let themselves be captured.

Missy finished chewing her mouthful of fried egg and raised her eyebrows. "Your chances or mine?"

The Doctor lowered his fork, looking offended.

"What?" She asked innocently. "Like you said, I know my way around, my chances are blatantly better, even with the handicap you've insisted on giving me." She was, of course, referring to his request that she refrain from killing. He had a feeling that she was not going to stop bringing it up at every opportunity, as if she was doing him some magnanimous favour by reigning in her inner homicidal maniac.

"Our chances." He emphasised.

" _Our_ chances," She mimicked, drawing out the word. "are as good as you'd expect. It's not exactly a Dalek camp. These people are simpletons, simple minds, nothing in the ways of technology, mostly brute force and firearms. There is the small risk of being executed on the spot, but as long as they think we have useful information-" She shrugged. "Piece of cake."

"That's very reassuring." The Doctor said flatly.

"I never said I'm wholeheartedly in favour of your brilliant plan."

"If you think you have a better one I'm all ears."

"Oh, it's too late for that now." She said dismissively, mopping up runny egg yolk with a piece of bread. "This is a lesser known meeting spot for Anti-Bolshevik sympathisers, I did try not to make it seem as though we were giving ourselves up deliberately. That man sitting at the far end of the room," She casually gestured with her fork. "is an undercover CheKa officer, and I do believe he's recognised me."

The Doctor tensed and straightened in his chair, trying to glimpse the man she was talking about out of the corner of his eye. 

"He'll have finished his cigarette any moment. Try and look surprised when he jabs you in the ribs with his gun. It's just as well, I know you never carry money and I don't have a single kopeka on me. Goodness knows how we were going to pay for this." She said, licking her fingertips.

"A little warning would have been nice." The Doctor hissed.

"Well, I'm telling you now, aren't I- oh, hold on." Missy held up one finger and took a large gulp from her glass of water, an insidious twinkle in her eye. "Here we go."

When she put the glass down, the Doctor realised that the entire restaurant had gone eerily quiet. He did not have to look around to know that the man behind him had stubbed out his cigarette, pulled out his pistol and risen to his feet.

\- - -

The boy whose name was not really Theta Sigma, but who – like all young prospective Time Lords and Ladies – quite liked the prospect of choosing a calling, an impressive name or a title, sat up and pulled his legs close to his chest, staring gloomily at the sunny patterns on the opposite wall. 

"You should be scared. Lord Borusa said I'm a menace."

"You're not."

"I am!" He shouted, swallowing tears. "I am, Koschei! I hit Vansell, in _class_. In _detachment_ training. In front of _everybody_."

"It was his own fault. We were explicitly told to provoke reactions using general facts. He got personal."

"And I punched him in the nose for it."

Koschei snickered, which earned him an enraged glare.

"IT'S NOT FUNNY!"

"It's a bit funny. Come on. It could be worse."

Theta rubbed his face furiously, pretending that he wasn't crying. "I really don't see how." He rested his forehead on his knee. "They'll kick me out. I know it. It's true, I'll never be a Time Lord."

He could feel his friend's weight on the bed, and he didn't want pity, or comfort, or false hope. So he quickly swivelled around, facing the other way. 

“Do you want me to go?” Koschei asked, after a while.

\- - -

Handcuffed, manhandled and relieved of the contents of their pockets, they were thrown into a windowless room which was dimly illuminated by a flickering light bulb. The bolt on the heavy metal door slid into place behind them. 

"Ooh, boys!" Missy exclaimed, loud enough for their captors to hear. "That was fun, let's do it again!" 

She caught her breath, laughing softly to herself, and slid down against a wall and onto the ground to make herself as comfortable as was possible under the circumstances. "Now, jokes aside. Torture is all the rage here these days so let's do try not to overstay our welcome. Unless you're into that sort of thing." 

The Doctor, who had begun to pace around the holding cell, familiarising himself with their surroundings, stopped and shot her a look.

Missy raised her eyebrows innocently. "What? I'm not judging."

With a shake of his head, but not without a small smirk, he turned away and continued his perusal. 

"They'll be reporting back to the Kremlin now. Requesting orders." She watched him nudge the door frame with his foot and give the wall a curious sniff. "It'll take them a while." 

He cast a last glance around the room and walked over to the opposite wall, lowering himself to the ground across from her. 

"You look tired." Missy observed.

The Doctor met her eyes. "I am." 

It was true. For him, it had been a long few weeks with little rest.

"You didn't sleep last night?" She tilted her head curiously. "Why not?"

It was a valid question. With her unconscious, it would have certainly been safe to do so. For a long moment, he looked at her, wondering what the answer was and whether he knew it. What he knew was that he had tried to sleep, and failed. "Why do you care?"

"I don't." She closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the wall. "Just making conversation."

The Doctor snorted and looked up at the flickering light bulb. It was beginning to annoy him. 

Speaking of annoying, not a minute later Missy started to sing to herself, just for a change. He groaned. What was it with her and the constant musical interludes in this regeneration?

"Can you- Can you _not_. I'm trying to think."

Naturally, his objection went unheeded.

"I just want a minute of peace, is that too much to ask?" 

This came out rather more harshly than he had intended but it got her attention and she fell silent.

"Peace." She repeated thoughtfully, as though he had suggested something entirely outlandish. "Oh, you mean _silence_ , dear."

"Same thing."

A quiet, guttural laugh escaped her throat and she opened her eyes, focusing on him. No, not on him. She was looking right through him, through time, at something haunting and distant. The Doctor frowned, wondering what it was she was seeing.

"Silence is not peace, Doctor. It's deafening." The jester and provocateur had fallen away. She spoke truthfully now, uncensored. And even as she did, it suddenly began to dawn on him. "It strangles you with its nothingness, it suffocates, it hurts, I _hate_ it. There is nothing peaceful in it. Not when your entire life, all you've ever known is-"

"The drums." He uttered, more to himself, when he finally understood. How could he not have realised before? Missy made a noise so small and vulnerable that he felt it in his hearts. 

"They fixed me, don't you know." She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes again, the playful lightness of her voice barely masking its underlying bitterness. "I'm _so_ much better now. Cleansed, shiny and new."

The sound of drums, the signal planted by the High Council of Time Lords to aid Rassilon's final sanction; they had extracted it from the Master's mind. With benevolent intent, no doubt, and torturous results. In the last regeneration the Doctor had known, the drums – although maddening – had become such an integral part of the Master's very being that he could only imagine what havoc it must have wreaked on her mind to have them suddenly ripped out. 

Missy quietly began to hum again. 

The Doctor said nothing.

\- - -

The boy whose name was not really Theta Sigma said nothing.

“Do you want me to punch _you_ in the nose?” The other boy offered. “It might make you feel better.”

Despite himself, Theta chuckled, then quickly followed it up with: “Shut up. Idiot.” To make it known that he was still, overall, very much not amused.

Koschei sighed and took off his shoes. He pulled his legs up onto the bed and sat cross-legged, leaning against his friend's back. Theta didn't move away.  
They sat back to back like this for some time, in silence.

\- - -

"I imagine we'll be separated." Missy said out of the blue after some time, interrupting her rendition of a Russian folk song, and opened her eyes. "For interrogation."

The Doctor turned to look at her. This was a good point. Which meant one of them would inevitably escape first. Possibly with information about the TARDIS's current whereabouts.

"Doubles our chances." He said with a shrug, meanwhile setting his mind very firmly on being the first to gain both that vital information and his freedom.

"You don't think you can trust me." Missy gave him a thin smile. "Do you."

This was true.

"I don't exactly have a choice." He looked up at the ceiling, rubbing his hands together behind his back. His skin felt rough and cracked from the cold, like parchment, and the handcuffs were chafing. "I'd like to." He added softly, glancing back at her. This was also true.

Missy raised her eyebrows, still smiling, and did something that took him entirely off guard. 

At first, he barely noticed. But once he did, it hit him like a slap in the face. Except far less unpleasant. And not at all painful. Really not like a slap at all. 

After all these centuries – it felt like a caress. 

He could sense her mind.

It would not have been so unusual – was not unusual, for their kind, to sense the presence of another's mind, especially in close proximity – but this was the Master. A mind so well-guarded and meticulously shielded that it had become all but invisible to him a long time ago. The Doctor would not have liked to admit to it, but he was thoroughly impressed with her ability to shield her presence so entirely from him. To his chagrin he had never been able accomplish this to the same extent, although he had tried.  
The Master _always_ sensed him.

She was currently looking at him with great interest and he realised he was gaping. He closed his mouth and swallowed, embarrassed.

"Don't get any ideas." She warned him quietly, holding his gaze. "You wouldn't stand a chance."

"I know." 

He would not and likely could not pry further, beyond the mere presence of her mind, to discover its contents. There were many more walls and safeguards in place. It wasn't as though she was giving herself away. What she was giving him was a drop in the ocean, all things considered, but it was _some_ thing. 

A token of trust.

"Thank you." He said.

"Don't be sentimental. It's in our best interest while we're allies. Temporarily." Missy looked away, stretched out her back, and picked herself up off the ground. "Alright, let's get cracking."

She crossed over to him and sat down beside him. The Doctor was about to inquire what she was talking about when she proceeded to scoot closer and laid her head on his shoulder. 

"Oh." Caught between the urge to pull away out of sheer surprise and the desire to inhale the scent of her hair, he remained motionless instead, not at all comfortable with the fact that his hearts were inexplicably, annoyingly and suddenly beating in his throat. 

"Can you see a pin?"

"Ah- a-a what?"

"A pin, Doctor. A hairpin." She raised up her head and looked at him. "I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind ensuring I can get out of these cuffs when I need to. They're not the fun kind."

Of course. The handcuffs! That's what she was doing. Of _course_. He knew that.

"Right. Yes. Let's get- the- th- that." He stammered like an idiot, cursing himself and also her for being so infuriatingly _confusing_ to the senses.

"Go on then." She said, and lowered her head back on his shoulder. "Hairpin."

"Uhm." The Doctor searched the locks of dark hair and spotted a pin which was starting to come loose. He blinked, unsure of exactly what she was asking him to do. "I'm not sure... how do I..."

"Oh, for goodness sake." Missy made an exasperated noise. "Use your teeth."

"Right, okay." He swallowed. Her hair smelled like stardust, artron particles and home.

He took great care not to pull it. 

When their captors returned a short time later, they took her first.

\- - -

"If they do kick you out, and I doubt-"

"They will."

"...And I _doubt_ that." Koschei insisted. "I'll take you with me when I get a TARDIS."

"It's not allowed."

"I don't care. I'll take you."

"It wouldn't be worth it. They'd take it away from you as soon as we returned and then you'd be grounded here forever."

Koschei thought about it. "So then... we don't return."

"What, ever?"

"Ever."

\- - -

The Mistress tasted the trickle of blood from her broken lip and smiled. To think that this poor excuse for a semi-intelligent level 4 planet inhabitant who had backhanded her across the face had no idea of the retaliation coming his way was positively exhilarating.

"Funny, eh?" Enraged by her reaction - or, really, a lack thereof - the CheKa officer grabbed her by the throat with enough force to cut off a human's air supply. Perhaps. She couldn't be sure, because to a Gallifreyan respiratory bypass system it mattered, of course, very little. She looked down her nose at him with impassive aplomb.

She was suspended from the ceiling on what appeared to be a meat hook, wrists handcuffed above her head and toes barely touching the ground.

It was borderline offensive how little effort had been made to restrain her properly, she thought. Clearly none of these burly apes could fathom that she might pose a real threat. It was one of the things she had grown to like immensely about this body. She was constantly and consistently underestimated by those who did not know who or what she was. They dismissed her as fragile, incapable, vulnerable, and oh, the look on their faces when they realised how wrong they had been. It was marvellously entertaining every time.

"Count yourself lucky that comrade Stalin wants you alive." The man spat, digging his fingers into her neck. His breath reeked of tobacco. Missy wrinkled her nose while he released her throat and smeared the blood from her lip across her jaw. 

"The things I could do to scum like you..." His gaze wandered from her bruised cheek down to her chest, her waist and the folds of her skirt. 

Missy glanced up at the ceiling, decidedly bored. What the Doctor loved so much about humans and their simplistic one-track minds, she would never know.

"But then, who's to stop me?” He sneered. “They said _alive_ , not unharmed." The officer slid his hand down her neck and stepped closer to her.

Little did he know, this was a big mistake.

Before his fingers could touch the brooch on her collar, Missy had pushed herself up off the ground and wrapped her legs around his waist, hoisting herself high enough to grab the meat hook with both hands.

"What are the odds," She breathed, eyes wide and glistening maniacally. "I promised to keep you alive, too.”

Once he was over the initial shock of her sudden assault, the man tried to free himself from her vice hold and found he could not.

"Trouble is," Her expression turned from theatrical excitement to stone-cold callousness in a split second. "I'm dreadful at keeping promises."

Meanwhile, the man had realised it was impossible to reach his gun holster with her legs in the way and tried to swing a punch at her instead.  
She caught his fist in the palm of her hand, an inch from her face.

He froze and slowly glanced over at their joint hands in disbelief. Her wrist in particular, which was clearly no longer cuffed.

Missy had followed his gaze and exhaled dramatically. "Ooph. Look at that. Doesn't bode well for you, does it."

"Help!" The officer called, trying to free himself again, but he couldn't get her off him and her hand was crushing the bones in his, and _how was she so strong?_ "HELP! GET IN HERE!"

"Now, you'll probably wind up dead in a tick," She told him casually while he shouted for reinforcements. "so you might as well tell me." She released his hand and grabbed him by the throat the way he had done to her, forcing him to look her in the eye. "What did they do with the blue box?"

"H-help-" The officer croaked.

"Fine." Missy sighed, mildly annoyed. "I'll ask someone else."

Just then, the door swung open and two armed men rushed in. Before they had a chance to react, she released the officer and dropped down to her feet, having freed herself entirely of her handcuffs. With one hand, she pulled his pistol from its holster. With the other, she grabbed one of his arms, twisting it behind his back and turning him around in one smooth move to shield herself from the guards.  
One of the men assessed the situation faster than the other and attempted to leap behind the door for cover. But even as he did so, she fired a shot. It pierced his spinal cord at the base of his neck, sending him tumbling to the ground in a motionless, whimpering heap.

The other, a young freckled fellow, was frantically trying to decide whether to shoot or run, but that decision was taken out of his hand quite literally when her second shot sent his weapon flying. He cried out and cradled his hand which was now missing a finger.

"You." Missy barked, pointing the gun at his head. "Tell me." 

Keeping her eyes on him, she released the officer and kicked the back of his leg, bringing him to his knees. Then she grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him backwards. He fell sprawling beside her and she placed one foot across his throat firmly to keep him in place. 

"Where did they take the blue box?"

The man holding his bleeding hand stared in horror at the scene before him, mouth agape.

"I'm running out of patience, you know." She said pleasantly with strained composure, as though speaking to a naughty child. "Where. Is. The blue. Box?"

"I- I- Please-" The man stuttered, shaking his head. 

Missy rolled her eyes and cocked the gun. "Tell you what, I'll count to three. One. Two."

"Kronstadt!" He blurted out desperately. "They're taking it to Kronstadt!"

"There's a good boy." The Mistress smiled. "Mummy's proud. Now be a darling and come over here."

The young man stood terrified, not daring to move.

Missy pursed her lips, regarding him with false pity. “Go on, I don't bite." She said sweetly. "You're very lucky, you know. I'd have killed you by now any other day.” 

Surprisingly, he did not seem to find that information particularly reassuring. She dropped the act and her gaze focused on him firmly, her voice unwavering and commanding. “You will come to me.”

The man's face glazed over and he walked towards her almost robotically.

“That's it, poppet.” She smiled sardonically, beckoning him with her finger until he was right in front of her. Then she struck him in the head with the butt of her pistol and he collapsed at her feet, unconscious.

The Mistress turned to look at the officer gasping for air and twitching under her foot. His face was a picture. So worth the wait.

"The things I could do to scum like you.” She said in a sing-song voice, tilting her head to the side and watching him like a predator on the verge of attack. "But first... say something nice."

\- - -

In the constellation of Kasterborous, a long time ago and far away, the boy who was ashamed and scared no longer felt inconsolably sad. He lifted his head up, looking at the sunny blotches on the wall and imagining them to be stars and nebulas.

“Where would we go?” He asked, not for one second believing that this fantastical plan would ever come to fruition, but thankful for it nonetheless.

The boy whose name was not really Koschei was smiling. It was a good plan.

“Everywhere.” He replied. “Anywhere we want. We'll just run.”

\- - -

Missy stepped out through the door, equipped with one of the men's coats and most of their weapons. She wiped her brooch on her skirt with great care. Human blood did not stain on black.

Keeping these people alive was so much work, she had no idea why the Doctor bothered. It was hardly worth it, considering their ridiculously short life spans.  
She glanced back over her shoulder. 'Well... _technically_ alive', she mused. If they happened to die from their injuries after she was gone it could hardly be considered killing them, now, could it? She was leaving them with a hypothetical chance of survival, so it would be their own fault for being so weak and undetermined to live.  
After all, when it came to survival, she did fancy herself a bit of an expert.

Fastening the brooch back on her collar, Missy glanced both ways and set off in the opposite direction she had come from earlier when they had brought her here. There was little time. Very soon more people were bound to arrive to find two of their comrades injured and unconscious and the officer strung up by his ankles, gurgling and slowly bleeding out through a dozen tiny holes along the main arteries of his throat. More importantly, if the Doctor had been taken somewhere not long after her, chances were he too was on the loose by now, and of course his first move would be to find her again. 

Always the saviour. Always the hero. 

If she wanted to lose him, to get to the TARDIS first and accomplish what she was determined to do, she had to get out fast.

The faint sound of footsteps brought her to a halt as she was nearing a junction in the corridor. Soundlessly, she reached for her pistol and backed up against the wall.  
There were three, no – two people moving swiftly but cautiously in her direction. 

Determined to have the element of surprise, Missy edged closer, pistol at the ready, spun around the corner and – exhaled with relief and indignation.

"Doctor!" She lowered her gun, then immediately raised it again, aiming it at the bespectacled man he had in tow. 

"Oh God, no, please!" The man exclaimed, stumbling backwards in a panic.

"It's okay, Alexei." The Doctor reassured him, giving her a cordial nod. "She's with me." 

" _Is_ she now." Missy put her gun away, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not your sidekick."

"I didn't say that." He took a few steps towards her, glancing back at the Russian man briefly. "Missy, this is Alexei."

"Alexei Ivanovich." The man interjected, and immediately piped down under her glare.

"Alexei, this is Missy, my, er, accomplice."

They met in the middle of the corridor, the Doctor waving his companion along and Missy with her hands on her hips. She gave the man with the glasses a once-over, then turned to the one who mattered. "Doctor, a word?"

"Listen," The Doctor started. "he's a scientist and-"

She grabbed his arm, pulling him aside. "I don't care if he's the Tsar's heir! We're _not_ taking him with us."

"We have to, he's a friend."

"He's a liability! Why do you insist on picking up strays wherever you go?"

"Excuse me," Alexei Ivanovich adjusted his glasses. "I _can_ hear you."

"Good for you, now shut up!" Missy snapped, then turned back to the Doctor. "I won't allow it."

"I'm not asking your permission." The Doctor furrowed his eyebrows at her, not backing down. "He helped me and I'm not leaving him behind."

The scientist glanced back over his shoulder. "Excuse me, but-"

"Shut up." The Doctor and Missy retorted in unison.

"He knows where the TARDIS is." The Doctor gestured to the man.

"So do I!" Missy threw her arms up in frustration. "I found out whilst _you_ were busy making friends."

"Shut up the both of you!" Alexei suddenly shouted. It was so unexpected, coming from the mousy, mild-mannered man he appeared to be, that the Time Lord and Lady actually stopped in their tracks and turned to look at him.

"Thank you." He said, a little sheepishly, his voice urgent and pleading. "It's just... we have to go or we're dead!"

Now that they had taken a break from shouting at each other, the Doctor and Missy became aware of the voices echoing down the corridor, getting closer by the second.

"He's right, you know." Missy breathed, eyes wide.

The Doctor's own eyes gleamed with something that should have been alarm but looked more like excitement when he instinctively reached for her hand and whispered: 

" _Run_."


	9. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Missy are having a really rough day. But they're not the only ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I've had very little time to write and this chapter is really bloody long. It was going to be shorter but I decided that after seeing Missy get out of a tricky situation in her Master-y way in the last chapter, it would be interesting to contrast it against the Doctor's Doctor-y approach.  
> Also, I liked the idea of observing them through the eyes of a stranger for a change.

"One day, you meet the Doctor. And of course, it’s the best day ever. It’s just the best day of your life. Because he’s brilliant, and he’s funny, and mad, and best of all, he really needs you."

\- - -

The horses were steaming and frothing at the bits as they pulled the troika swiftly along over an open field. The potato sacks in the back of the sled shook, losing some of their load. A freezing wind whipped her face, sending locks of hair flying into her eyes. Missy was extremely glad of the thick wool coat she had helped herself to. She glanced over at the Doctor huddled beside her with a hint of schadenfreude.

"I marvel at your priorities!" The howl of the wind almost drowned out her voice. "You wouldn't leave without the human, but it didn't occur to you to grab a coat?"

"Well, maybe!" He shouted back with a scowl. "Since I had my hands full, _somebody_ could have grabbed one for me!"

Missy shrugged. "That would've been very thoughtful! And I did consider it! But then I remembered that all of this is your fault!"

He pulled his jacket tighter around himself. "Shut up and drive before I hit you with a potato."

Turning away with a smirk, Missy snapped the reigns.

In the back of the sled, amidst the potatoes and unbeknownst to them, the man with the wire frame glasses had regained his consciousness and was reaching for the gun in his pocket.

\- - -

Alexei Ivanovich Sharapov was not a man of violence, war or even human conflict. His father never quite forgave him the resemblence he bore to his mother after she died, so he had spent most of his formative years in solitude, burried in a vast amount of books.

One might have considered him wealthy, prior to the revolution. A man of science with a distantly aristocratic lineage. In other words, everything the new leaders of his country despised. However, he was useful. Since the Bolsheviks' rise to power, he had lost his home, his wealth - and neither of those two would have mattered much to him - had he not also lost Nadya.  
Nadezhda, his wife. His heart.  
Her name meant hope. And it was true that the day they took her from him, he had also lost all hope of escape from what their beloved country was becoming.

And so he hardened himself against his circumstances, obeyed because he had no choice and prayed that God might forgive him his sins.

Today was like most other days. He had spent all morning working in the laboratory until comrade Dudko interrupted him and requested his assistance with an interrogation.

At first nothing seemed out of the ordinary. When they entered the room, the subject - he had come to think of them as subjects, his test subjects, not fellow humans, and he never looked them in the eye anymore - was tied to a chair, with an officer standing over him.

"Gorochov!" Comrade Dudko, who had accompanied Alexei to the interrogation chamber, called in greeting. "Look who I brought you."

What was unusual, was that the unfortunate soul bound to the chair chimed in, sounding rather more cheerful than people usually were in his situation.

"Hello there! How nice of you to join us. Did you bring that cup of tea I asked for?"

Alexei couldn't help but glance at the prisoner out of sheer curiosity, even though he preferred to acquaint himself with them as little as possible. The fellow was an older man, grey-haired and thin, unremarkable on first sight. Alexei decided that his bravado had to stem from despair.

"Shut your mouth, old man." The officer barked. "There'll be time for talking soon, you just wait." He turned around and eyed Alexei, who in turn lowered his gaze and clutched his leather portmanteau tightly.

"God dammit." Gorochov cracked his knuckles, looking annoyed and more than a little disappointed. "I was just getting started. I thought we were going to use that stuff on the broad."

Dudko shook his head. "Comrade Bogdan's orders. He says we have to keep her alive, and he doesn't want her injected with poison in case Sharapov messed up."

Alexei had a mind to inform them that he had most certainly not 'messed up' and that his truth serum would work perfectly well, but decided it was not worth the hassle. Instead, he stepped away from them and walked over to a table to open up his portmanteau.

"Comrade Sharapov." Gorochov called after him. "How long until this concoction of yours kicks in, eh?"

"Five to ten minutes." He replied, his back turned.

Gorochov gave a whistle. "All this waiting. Got any tobacco on you, Dudko?"

"Not me, comrade, I'm all out."

"To hell with it, let's go find someone who does then."

Alexei stopped what he was doing and looked up, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He turned around just in time to watch them leave the room. The heavy door fell shut and was bolted from the outside. He swallowed. Well, what could he say? Please don't leave me alone with the man whose death I know I am inevitably assisting in, whether or not he tells the truth?

"Don't look so alarmed." The prisoner said, making him jump. "I'm not your enemy, and unless I'm terribly mistaken, I don't think you are really mine either."

Alexei turned back to his equipment immediately, determined not to react or reply to anything he heard. And oh, over the last few months, he had heard it all. Begging, bargaining, rage, tearful resignation and hysteria bordering on insanity.

"I'm the Doctor, by the way." The man continued. "I'd offer you my hand but as you can see I am, ah, a little tied up right now."

'A doctor.' Alexei thought and pulled out a syringe. 'That is a shame. Forgive me, friend.'  
He retrieved a vial of clear liquid.

"Whatever you're going to inject me with, and I'm going to go out on a limb here and say it's some form of truth serum, I hate to inform you that you're wasting your time. It won't have the desired effect. Not unless you've done a remarkably clever thing and made unheard of breakthroughs in chemistry a few decades early. And, no offence, but I doubt that." He paused, squirmed against his bonds, and huffed. "Well... it may have _some_ effect, I'll give you that, but I really, highly recommend that we don't find out what it is. I have a feeling your, ah... colleagues might not look kindly on it if they think you've failed."

"I haven't." Alexei uttered defensively before he could stop himself.

"No, of course you haven't." The man concurred amicably. "I'm sure your truth serum works tremendously well on humans."

The scientist frowned and turned just enough to glimpse the prisoner out of the corner of his eye. "What?"

"Well, you see... I'm not what you're expecting. I'm as much one of you as you are one of them." The peculiar doctor said, his unnervingly piercing eyes boring into him.

Alexei tightened his grip on the syringe and looked away.

"You don't have to do this." The prisoner continued. "I can tell you don't want to. In fact, I think you're here almost as much against your will as I am. Probably more so, come to think of it. Anyway, nevermind that. I can help. I can get you out of here, further away than you've ever imagined going. Or just past the middle of next century, if you like. It's a little bit more pleasant, after your lot signs the Eurasian peace treaty."

What utter nonsense that man was spouting. Alexei had noticed that each of his wrist's were handcuffed to the chair, his ankles bound and tied up between the two front chair legs. He was not getting out of here anytime soon. Neither of them were.

"I'm sorry." The scientist said. "I know that means nothing to you, but it's all that I can say."

"I know." The doctor, if indeed he was one, said quietly. It sounded like pity. Alexei came up behind him and held up the syringe with shaky hands to give it a flick.

"Just tell me one thing..."

Alexei steadied the man's head with one hand, finding no resistance.

"Is that the ear piece of a stethoscope sticking out of your bag?"

The scientist paused with the needle all but touching skin and blinked. "What?"

"Because if it is, I really think you should have a listen to my heartbeat."

The request was baffling. Alexei Ivanovich was not strictly speaking a medical doctor, but he had spent some time studying human anatomy. Now they occasionally employed him as a physician, mostly to confirm deaths.  
But what was this man's plan? Even if Alexei obliged him, there was no conceivable way in which it could avert his predicament.

"Humour me, comrade Sharapov." The prisoner was saying. "I gather you think I won't make it out of here alive, so this could well be my last wish. Will you deny a man his last wish?"

This was true. For a long moment, Alexei hesitated, sympathy and guilt wrestling with fear.

"Why is it so important to you that I listen to your heart?" He questioned.

"Because," The man said plainly. "I need you to believe me."

 _Insane_ , Alexei sighed and shook his head. The man was clearly insane, and that only made him feel worse. Did he really have more to lose than a minute of his time? He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and lowered the syringe.

"Thank you." The man said, letting out a breath. "Really, I appreciate it. And I promise you won't regret it."

"Some of the men here have turned to monsters." Alexei said as he quickly crossed back to his portmanteau and pulled out the stethoscope. "I would like to think I haven't, yet." 

When he turned around, the prisoner was gazing up at the ceiling, patiently waiting. Alexei approached him and pressed the stethoscope to the left side of his chest. At first, his expression gradually changed from concentration to confusion. He glanced up at the man, who raised an eyebrow at him in return. Hesitantly, he moved the stethoscope to the right. His eyes widened behind the round wire frame glasses.

"Impossible." He muttered incredulously.

"Binary vascular system."

Alexei moved the stethoscope back to the left, unable to believe his own senses. "But how..."

"I told you, comrade Sharapov. I'm not human."

A nervous, choked laugh escaped him. "No, that's not- it's not-"

Suddenly, there was a metal clanking sound, and to Alexei's utter horror, it was the handcuffs falling to the ground. His own heart skipped a beat. He jumped backwards, panicked, and stumbled over to the table, looking for the syringe. His trembling hands found it and fumbled it, but he got a hold of it again, finally raising it up in a gesture halfway between defence and attack.

"Wait!" The prisoner called out, holding up one hand. There was something so compelling about the look in his eyes that the scientist found himself arrested in place. "Stop. _Think_. Yes, you can stab me with that needle and I may, or may not, be incapacitated. But you just heard something, something you _know_ was not a human heartbeat. I'm not the only one. Two of us arrived here this morning, you heard your comrades. And believe me when I tell you, I am not the one you should be afraid of. Now, I've just removed my handcuffs, and you're wondering how. You're wondering what I'm capable of, and the answer is you have _no_ idea. Whatever happens here today, you are not my enemy until you decide to be," The pale eyes beneath a set of bushy grey brows glistened darkly. "and then, I'm sorry to say, you might regret your decision. So I'm going to untie myself now. Then, if you want, I'll tie you to the chair to make them think I got loose and overpowered you. Or," He bent down slowly to loosen his ties, keeping his eyes firmly on Alexei. "you could always come with me."

Alexei shook his head, heart racing in his chest. "We can't... you can't escape. The door. It's..."

"Bolted, I know."

"And there's a man standing guard outside."

"Precisely." The prisoner kicked off the ropes and leaped to his feet, pointing at the door. "And that man can't hear us, or he'd be in here by now."

"Who are you?"

"I told you, I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor... who?"

"Just the Doctor. Pleasure to meet you. Thank you for not stabbing me with that thing."

Alexei helplessly glanced at the syringe, realising he had all but forgotten he was holding it. Meanwhile, the Doctor bounded across the room to the portmanteau, digging through it and discarding breakable instruments and vials as though they were toys.

"Excuse me!" Alexei protested. "That's- Careful with that! What are you doing?"

"Chloroform!" The silver-haired man waved his hands impatiently, looking up at him. "You must have it, this decade goes gaga for it." Not waiting for a reply, he dove back into the bag and emerged again victorious. “Aha!” He held up a small bottle, a toothy smile on his face. "Now, listen, there's no time. Am I tying you up or are you going to hammer on that door to get the guard's attention?"

And that was how everything had begun.

That was how Alexei Ivanovich had come upon the man with two hearts who claimed to be not of this world, which was preposterous and yet, by the end of the same day, Alexei would believe him.  
The man who somehow, he would never understand quite how, had talked him into attempting a reckless escape in the space of five minutes.  
The man who gave him back something he had not felt in far too long.

Hope.

\- - -

The guard unconscious, a distant echo of footsteps on their heels, Alexei and the Doctor hurriedly made their way down the corridor.

"Wait, wait!" Alexei stumbled over his own feet as he cast look after look back over his shoulder, half expecting to be shot at any moment. "Where are we going? Do you know the way out?"

"We're not leaving yet." The Doctor replied, as though it were obvious. "It's not terribly cheerful, this place, is it. What did it use to be?"

"An asylum, I think, they chose it for its remote- now just a minute, what did you say?! We're not leaving? Why ever not! Doctor? Doctor, the longer we stay-"

The Doctor spun around, brows furrowed and one finger on his lips.

"Sorry." Alexei whispered. "But why aren't we escaping?"

"I need to find the woman who was with me."

They stopped at a junction in the corridor and the Doctor lifted one hand, indicating for him to wait, while he glanced around the corner.

"Oh." Alexei took off his glasses and wiped them on his lab coat. "I see. Well, how are you going to rescue her?"

"I highly doubt she'll need rescuing. We might have to stop her." The Doctor scoffed, beckoning him along into the next corridor. "Now- I'm sorry, can we drop the formalities? I really don't want to keep calling you comrade Sharapov. What's your name?"

"Alexei Ivanovich." Said Alexei Ivanovich.

"Well then, Alexei, tell me this... have you heard anything about a big blue box?"

“I- I have, as a matter of fact, yes!”

“Shhh!”

Alexei flinched. “Sorry, so sorry.”

“Tell me what you've heard, but keep your voice down.”

When he had finished telling the Doctor what he knew – very, very quietly – they were suddenly apprehended at gunpoint. But not by the men they had been expecting.

\- - -

Alexei didn't like her.

This was not particularly unusual, seeing as he was not too fond of most people at the best of times. 'I'm surprised you tolerated me long enough to fall in love with me,' Nadya used to tease, and he would smile and draw her close and tell her she had always been the exception.

But this was different. It was strange, too, because it struck him immediately just how similar the Doctor and Missy were. They had the same astute, hypnotic eyes, the same quick-fire way of speaking and seemed to share an unwavering conviction of their own strength and cunning bordering on invincibility.

But where the Doctor's eyes inspired trust and good faith, Missy's were unforgiving and devoid of sympathy. Alexei had no doubt in his mind that they were a killer's eyes.  
He had come to know and recognise the eyes of the men in the CheKa who took pride or pleasure in ending lives and he saw the very same glint of callousness in hers. He did not care for the way she looked at him. As though she wanted him dead but did not consider him worth the trouble of killing.

On second thought, Alexei concluded, when he had time to think back on it all much later, Missy and the Doctor were polar opposites as much as they were alike. And he could not say whether the mutual respect they seemed to have for each other was an enduring constant or simply a tentative truce waiting to be broken.

\- - -

There was really no time to ponder as they took off running down the corridor.

"Alexei, quick, which way?"

"I- I don't know-"

"Oh, he's _ever_ so useful, this one."

"Hush! Alexei, please, _think_!"

"Oh! There's a backdoor by the stairwell, just there around the corner!"

"Perfect! This way!"

The three of them turned a corner and slid to an abrupt halt metres away from their escape route - two men had appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

"Okay, NOT this way!" The Doctor shouted, turning on his heel.

The officers were equally surprised at the sight of them but quick to asses the situation and reach for their weapons. 

Everything happened very quickly.

Alexei pivoted on the spot only to discovered that Gorochov and Dudko had also just turned the corner, catching up with them fast.

"Down!" Missy barked, and he instinctively threw his arms up over his head and ducked. A couple of shots were fired, somebody cried out and he thought he heard Gorochov curse.

"Stop shooting, you idiots, you'll shoot _us_!" One of the men by the stairwell yelled.

"Krupkin's hit!"

"GET THEM!"

Then the Doctor was beside him, yanking him up and into a corridor that branched off across from the stairwell. A corridor Alexei knew only too well. It was not an escape route but it was familiar territory and that was good enough.

"The laboratory!" He exclaimed and glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Missy take down Dudko with a shot to the shin. "Come! In here!"

They burst into the room with Missy bringing up the rear, but Gorochov was right behind her, pistol at the ready. The Doctor launched forward to slam the door shut and keep the other men out, Missy spun around, gun in hand and Alexei's eyes fell on a large Erlenmeyer flask.

As he swung it up into the air, a shot was fired.

\- - -

_Onetwothreefour._

Missy doubled over.

Oh, but the Doctor had a way of crossing her plans each and every time.  
Even without meaning to.

_Onetwothreefour._

By now, she should have been far away, orbiting a supernova in her own TARDIS whilst listening to Liszt, pronouncing herself the supreme deity of a level 3 planet or enjoying refreshments with the Great Emperor of the Sixth Decassian Realm.

Yet here she was, gasping for air on this filthy little world.

_Onetwothreefour._

"...no NO!" His voice cut through the haze of pain and reality snapped back into focus - the shouting outside the door, the human's sour stench of fear and the Doctor's concern. The latter was a surprise and, undeniably, a thrill. She felt it distinctly, like an electric current surging through her. Perhaps she had not taken into account that she too was no longer used to psychic intimacy with her own kind.

_Onetwothreefour._

She raised her eyes up to him and he was beside her, hands trembling and hearts racing, while she drew a laboured breath and felt for the damage just above her solar plexus.

"Missy." He whispered, pale and slack-jawed and so afraid for her, and _oh_ it was beautiful.

_Onetwo._

The truth was.

_Threefour._

In moments like these.

_Onetwo._

She could still hear it sometimes.

_Threefour._

That infernal rhythm.

Only to realise that she was listening to the sound of her own heartbeats.

The Mistress laughed.

\- - -

Gorochov lay lifeless on the ground, surrounded by a sea of glass splinters from the flask that had knocked him out. Alexei stared at the body with astonishment, wondering if he had killed the man. The thought was gruesome.

"No no NO!" The Doctor pushed past him, snapping him out of his trance.

Alexei looked up and realised that the shot Gorochov had fired just as he had knocked him unconscious had found a target. The woman, Missy, was clutching her chest and leaning on the edge of a table. The Doctor rushed to her side with an unprecedented air of panic, something which Alexei had not believed him capable of.

Someone was banging on the door now, followed by shouting: "OPEN UP, YOU BASTARDS!"

Alexei cast a glance back at the door, his own panic in the face of their seemingly hopeless situation taking a hold of him. The door was solid metal, but there was no key for the lock and the chair wedged underneath the handle was not going to hold them off for very long.

Just then, Missy began to laugh and doubled over coughing, one arm around her ribcage. Alexei looked questioningly at the Doctor who in turn stared at her, his lined face tense and bewildered.

She held out her hand and uncurled her fingers, revealing the remains of a bullet in her palm.

The Doctor blinked. "...How?"

"Wouldn't you like to know.” She groaned and clenched her teeth, straightening herself up carefully. The bullet fell to the floor. “A Time Lady never tells her secrets. Let's just say one learns from past mistakes."

It wasn't enough to erase the concern from the Doctor's eyes. He hesitated, still holding on to her. “Are you okay?”

“Dandy.” She breathed, brushing the hair out of her face. Her strained smile and the sweat beading on her brow told a different story. 

That moment a series of shots was fired against the door and made all three of them jump.

"Doctor..." Alexei looked at them pleadingly. "What do we do?"

"Gas the fuckers." Said Missy.

"Missy-"

" _Doctor._ " She fixed the man beside her with a defiant gaze. More shots were fired. "It's been a long day, and frankly speaking, _dear_ , I'm running out of patience. Now choose your words wisely, because if you dare lecture me, or stand in my way- so Rassilon help me- and, oh boy, he would! I will _end_ you."

The Doctor did not argue. Instead, he nodded curtly. “Let's do it."

"But what about us? You'll kill us too!" Alexei interjected, watching the two of them spring into action, appropriating his equipment and moving with dizzying speed and synchronicity.

"Knock out, not kill." The Doctor replied, whirling past him with a bunsen burner in hand. "Yes, I'm afraid it'll knock you out too. Pass me that beaker, would you? Oh yes, and that. Good man!"

"I'm not helping you carry him." Missy informed him.

"It won't affect either of you?" Alexei inquired, tailing the Doctor around the lab to try and keep up with what they were doing. "Doctor, let me help. This is my laboratory, after all!"

Missy laughed derisively, scrunching up her nose. "Oh, you precious thing. You'd only slow us down."

The Doctor gave him an apologetic look on her behalf. "No, well- look, we'll need to cover our mouths to stand a better chance, could you look for something?" He waved his hands. "Cloths, towels..."

"So it _will_ affect you?"

"Not right away. We should last long enough to get all three of us out of here!"

Outside, somebody had decided that shooting the door was not the way forward and was now attempting to break it down instead. The chair shook.  
Not for the first time today, Alexei Ivanovich wondered when exactly he had decided to place his fate into a madman's hands.  
Here he was, ostracised from his own laboratory like a clueless school boy. Hoping that these - _strangers_ \- would be his salvation. His eyes wandered to Gorochov, lying on the ground, and the pistol in his limp fingers. He cast a glance back at the duo, working in unison, like clockwork, not paying him the slightest heed.  
Slowly, he edged towards the gun, picked it up, and slipped it into his pocket.

\- - -

The CheKa base was in a state of mayhem. Those who had run to the lower floor, following the sound of gunshots, had dropped like flies in the corridor when the poison gas hit them. Nobody who was still conscious knew what had occurred in the laboratory, nor where it was safe to breathe.

The Doctor sat his unconscious friend up against the wall and joined Missy at the door. She picked the padlock and they cracked the door open carefully, peering out at the inner courtyard. The gust of fresh air was a welcome relief. Missy allowed herself to breathe deeply, clearing her lungs of the stinging gas which was slowly poisoning her system and giving her a splitting headache. 

"That car there, the one we came in." The Doctor's voice was muffled behind the piece of cloth tied over his nose and mouth, and hoarse from the fumes.

Missy narrowed her eyes, looking at something further in the distance. "No," She said. "the troika."

"What?" He followed her gaze. "You can't be serious. A horse cart?"

Missy rolled her eyes. "I'm perfectly serious, you dunce. It's a _sled_. The ground is covered in ice. Do the math."

The Doctor cast her a grumpy, somewhat sheepish look and mumbled something.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

He pulled the cloth off his face and coughed. "I said good point. Now let's go."

Several higher ranking officers were incapacitated and nobody was sure of their current orders or chain of command in this state of emergency. So it was no surprise that the Doctor and Missy, with Alexei in tow, sneaked along the side of the building undetected almost all the way up to the horse-drawn sled.  
The fire that was eventually opened on them from the upper floor windows and the front entrance was not enough to hinder their escape. A handful of cars and motorcycles went in pursuit of them, but they soon fell behind when they turned off the road and onto the snow-covered fields. Missy being an excellent shot did not harm their cause either when she flattened a couple of tires while the Doctor took the reigns, although he was reluctant to admit it.

\- - -

Alexei was cold. His face stung from the frost and his lungs and throat ached, no, _burned_. It was difficult to breathe. As he came to, it all started to come back to him. He blinked and saw the grey sky. His heartbeat immediately picked up.

It had not been a dream. It was all true.

He pulled himself up between the potato sacks and straightened his glasses. It took him a moment to make sense of his surroundings and dispel the nauseating feeling of disorientation. But then his mind kicked into gear with amazing clarity.

He was out. He had made it out, and now there was no way back. Now, there was only one thing that mattered. One purpose to his life, and he was going to fight tooth and nail for it or, by God, he would die trying. 

There was no time for explanations now. No time to lose. He was not, by nature, a violent man. But he would have to make them listen.

\- - -

“Doctor!”

“Alexei!” The Doctor turned around, extending a hand to help the man find his footing in the back of the sled. “Welcome back.”

“Where are we?” He asked, one hand touching cold metal in his pocket.

“Heading north-west.” The Doctor replied. "I'm sure we'll find somewhere to stop off-"

“Turn back!” Alexei yelled, cutting him off. “Turn back right now! We need to go back to Moscow!”

“Doctor, what in the name of sanity is he shouting about?” Missy called.

The Doctor began to inquire the same, but the sight of the gun silenced him. His expression grew dark and stony. “What are you doing? Alexei...”

The scientist moved as far away from him as the sled allowed, knuckles white as he gripped the pistol tightly, pointing it at the back of Missy's head. His voice was shaky with desperation. “Get. Me. Back! To _Moscow!_ Or I swear to God I'll shoot!”


	10. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy and the Doctor find respite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of effort went into this. Also, I promise all the unexplained bits will begin to make sense very soon.

"My heart is maintained by the Doctor."

 

~*~

 

"Give me the gun!" The Doctor's voice was commanding and devoid of patience. It had been a long day, he was chilled to the bone and not in the mood to be threatened at gun point by somebody he had trusted.

"Not until we turn around and head back to Moscow!" The human shouted, a picture of frenzy and fear.

"Alexei, I _swear_ -"

Missy brought the horses to an abrupt halt, knocking both men off balance. The Doctor grabbed on to the seat, narrowly avoiding a tumble to the ground while Alexei lost his footing and fell over in the back of the sled. He had not, however, let go of the pistol and when Missy turned around to face him he scrambled to his knees, keeping it steadily pointed at her.

"Shoot." She said, staring him down with an unwavering, steely gaze.

"What?" He gaped at her, eyes wide and hands shaking.

"Go on. Shoot me." She repeated slowly, and while her voice betrayed no emotion, the Doctor could sense her tensing up next to him, like a cat ready to pounce. It was obvious what she was doing. He himself did not think it likely that this fellow had it in him to shoot her, or anybody, point blank. Then again, the man was clearly desperate. Until they knew why, there was no telling what he might be capable of.  
For a moment, the tortured expression on Alexei's face bordered on determination and the Doctor thought he saw a flicker of trepidation in Missy's eyes. But then the human began to crumble. His breath hitched and he lowered the gun, just slightly. It was enough.

Missy's hand shot out and snatched the weapon from him, pointing it right back in his face. The Doctor lunged forward and threw his hand over hers, a silent request not to fire. She whipped her head around and shot him a glare.

"Give me _one_ good reason not to!"

Instead of answering her, or even looking at her, the Doctor was focused on the human who was crouching amidst the potato sacks like a frightened animal.

"Why?" He asked sternly.

"Who cares!" Missy exclaimed, and he tightened his grip on her hand; _please._

"I beg you, I have a daughter... she's only five." Alexei sat back in the sled and sobbed, defeated. "She's with the neighbours while I'm at work and the CheKa always keep an eye on her. Making sure I don't step out of line again. After they took the house we tried to leave, cross over to Finland, four month ago." He continued. "My wife and I, we thought we made sure nobody knew. But the day before our departure they took my wife for interrogation. And I never saw her alive again.” He took off his glasses and buried his face in his sleeve. “Their spies are everywhere and if you're a traitor... Forgive me, I didn't- didn't think you'd risk it, I know it's madness to go back into town but- I thought maybe if I came for her right away- That I'd get there before word got out that I helped you escape.” He looked up at the Doctor. “I should have never come with you, but the way you were talking, I started to think I stood a chance again. It was foolish. Dear God, it was foolish. I can't lose them both, I can't..." The words trailed off and he bowed his head, his shoulders shaking.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the man's ragged breathing and the howling of the wind over the barren fields.

"You should've told me." The Doctor uttered quietly, deep consternation on his face.

The Mistress lowered the gun and he withdrew his hand, raising it up to his chin instead and pensively staring into the distance where Moscow lay. 

Next to him, Missy hummed faintly as she tucked away curls of hair which the wind had torn loose.

"That's unfortunate, pet. Simply tragic." She sighed and dabbed the corner of her eye theatrically. Then, with an air of complete nonchalance, she raised the pistol up again and cocked it. "Let's put you out of your misery, shall we?"

Alexei looked up, dismayed, while the Doctor snapped out of his thoughts.

"NOYOU _DON'T_!" He exclaimed, throwing himself at her to get a hold of the gun even as she pulled the trigger. Too late.

The metallic click sounded, the Doctor's hearts sank, the scientist threw his arms up in front of his face - but no shot was fired.

"Look at that." Missy noted with a mixture of surprise and disappointment. "We're out of ammo- hey!"

A very furious Time Lord wrestled the pistol from her hand and tossed it as far across the field as far as he could. It turned out to be an impressive distance, all things considered. Missy watched it disappear into the snow and slowly turned back to him, raising an eyebrow.

"That was a little redundant, don't you think?"

"It was that or bashing you over the head with it." He hissed through clenched teeth.

"Oooh." She cooed, looking him up and down with a small smirk. "So _violent_. I like it."

The look on his face was murderous. For a moment, she was certain that she had all but pushed him too far.  
However, that moment, there was a flash of light and the horses pulled at their bits nervously, pawing the ground. Both Gallifreyans immediately felt the discharge of temporal energy in their close proximity and shared a look of surprise.

The Doctor jumped off the sled first and looked around, closely followed by Missy.  
Against the blinding white of the snow, it wasn't difficult to spot. At first just a small heap of browns and navy blue, it slowly turned into the shape of a person. A rather little person, wrapped in winter clothes, gingerly lifting herself up off the ground.

"Hello there!" The Doctor shouted, crossing the distance with a few quick strides. "Are you okay?"

The girl saw him and instinctively backed away, disorientated and frightened.

"No, no." He stopped and opened his arms. "Don't be scared, it's fine. I won't hurt you."

The child stared at the strange man before her like a distrustful deer in headlights. But then she spotted something behind him, and her eyes lit up. Without a word, she took off running and rushed right past him. The Doctor turned around, only to see her bury her little face in the folds of Missy's skirt.

He raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

It was difficult to say who was more surprised. The Mistress was looking down at the tiny creature clinging to her for dear life and patted her on the head a little awkwardly.

“There there, poppet.” She said and met his eyes, genuinely bewildered.

"Masha? Masha!" Alexei called, rushing towards them. "Mashenjka!"

The little girl looked up and gasped. “Papa!”

She gave Missy a smile and released her. Alexei dropped to his knees in the snow, tears of relief on his face as she ran into his embrace and threw her arms around his neck.

The Doctor came up beside Missy. "That was..."

“Interesting."

"I was going to say surprisingly fortunate. But yes."

She pointed to the girl. “Left wrist.”

"I noticed." He nodded, also having looked for and spotted the vortex manipulator.

Missy put her hands on her hips and the Doctor crossed his arms as they looked on, puzzling over the situation.  
Overcome with joy, Alexei was smothering the child in kisses and making sure every bit of her was unharmed.

"You would've shot him." The Doctor said quietly.

Missy shrugged. "Well, I didn't know his precious wee lamb was about to materialise out of thin air, did I." She reached up and absent-mindedly ran her fingers over the brooch on her collar. "Also, perhaps, I knew there were no bullets left.”

The Doctor glanced over at her out of the corner of his eye. "Then why shoot?”

“Why indeed.” She said. “Same reason you never would. I have a reputation to uphold.”

He snorted and shook his head. "Am I supposed to believe that?"

"If you like." The Mistress said, casting him an ambiguous look, before she started walking back towards the sled.

\- - -

Upon inspection, the vortex manipulator was quickly labelled a 'primitive contraption' and 'about as useful as a chocolate tea cosy' by the Doctor and Missy respectively. It was a prototype, early 50th century human technology, the first model of its size to have achieved an acceptable level of accuracy in time travel. It was also no help to them in its current state. Its temporal drive could take anywhere from a dozen hours to a day to recharge, entirely dependent on the spacetime shift performed during its last trip.

Missy sighed and handed it back over to him. The word 'recharging' was innocuously blinking in the corner of its touch screen, with no indication of remaining time whatsoever. She watched him frown at it intently for a while.

"Are you wishing you'd rescued your sonic toy instead of-"

"No." The Doctor grumbled stubbornly. "Knowing how long it will take won't make it go faster."

He decided not to dwell on the fact that he might have been able to recharge the battery almost instantaneously if he had only had his sonic screwdriver. He realised that she knew this, too, and was thankful when she didn't proceed to rub it in. Of course it would have been useful to reclaim it, after it had been taken off him during their arrest this morning. In an ideal scenario that had been part of the plan, but things had been going less than ideally for him these last few days.

"The more important question is," He wondered. "who gave it to her?"

"Well, whoever it was obviously knew to send her here." Missy stated. "Which does rather narrow it down."

"Yes." He held her gaze, brows furrowed in contemplation, then turned to the humans huddling in the back of the cart. Alexei looked back at him, arms wrapped protectively around his daughter who was curled up against his chest. Days were short here in winter and the sun had already begun its descend. This was no time for an interrogation. The Doctor sighed and turned back to Missy.

“Let's go. We need to find shelter.”

\- - -

At last, they had a stroke of luck. It came in the form of a dacha, one of the many cottages used as summer retreats which were strewn around the Russian countryside. It was very remote and small, consisting only of a couple of rooms, a kitchenette and a bathroom.

Most importantly, it was completely abandoned at this time of year.

There were no stables, nor anything to feed the horses, so the Doctor set them loose – to Missy's noted disapproval - and watched them trot off into the distance.

“Now all we have is potatoes.” She complained.

“And a vortex manipulator which should be functional by morning.” He offered.

Missy gazed up at the snow-covered tops of the fir trees, glistening in the last rays of sunlight. “Ever the optimist.”

\- - -

By the time they had located necessities and set up camp, the girl had fallen asleep on a chaise longue. It made little difference. They both had a good idea who of them had given her the vortex manipulator, but refrained from discussing their theories for the time being.

Some time after nightfall, the Mistress was lounging on a wicker armchair in the small dusty bedroom. Her feet were stretched out in front of her and her boots neatly placed next to the Doctor's by the side of a small parlour stove. To say that the room was warm would have been a brazen overstatement, but it was certainly the warmest place to be apart from the living room, where the humans had settled in for the night in front of the only fireplace. It was all well and good for them to hog the main heat source in the house, of course. 'Humans', the Doctor had said, 'hypothermia' he had said. Personally, Missy thought hypothermia sounded like a very merciful demise, but she wisely refrained from telling him that.

Right now, she was idly watching him as he stood over a basin of melting snow on top of the stove, hands on his hips, presumably waiting for it to reach any temperature above freezing.

“A watched pot never boils.” She informed him. “So the saying goes.”

“Just as well I'm not waiting for it to boil then.” He replied, his back turned.

Levels of exhaustion and crankiness were high, but the former exceeded the latter and both of them were too tired to carry on bickering. Missy tilted her head back and closed her eyes.  
Wood crackled on the fire and the wind was howling outside. After some time, it occurred to her that the urge to fill the silence in her head was not as overwhelming as usual. Instead, the Doctor's mental presence was a steady and comforting hum at the back of her mind. It made the emptiness bearable.

With a twinge of regret, she realised that she would miss it once all this was over. But why dwell on unpleasant things?

\- - -

The Doctor placed the basin of water on the sideboard and leaned in to inspect his face in the mirror. Eerie flickering shadows cast by the candlelight brought out his bold features more than usual. He drew his eyebrows together in a frown, then lifted them up and eventually shook his head with a small smile. No wonder the girl was afraid. Attack eyebrows, indeed. The ferociousness of this face still surprised him at times. He unbuttoned his waistcoat, the collar of his shirt, and stretched.  
Then he dipped a wash cloth in the basin of lukewarm water, wrung it out, and pressed it to his face. Even a small bit of comfort felt like a luxury after a day like today.

"What a pair we are, this time around."

He lowered the cloth. She had appeared by his side soundless. Their eyes met in the mirror before she turned her head to admire her own reflection. He surveyed her face - pale skin, sharp angles and eyes very similar to his own. There was a bruise on her jaw which he now found the time to notice. Ironically, it matched the bruise on the side of his face from the punch she had thrown at him this morning.

"Well, I suppose it makes a change for you to be in a body that isn't leaking life-force, rotting or turning into a cat." He quipped.

"Charming." Missy reached over and stole his wash cloth. "You're just jealous because I've always been more handsome than you." She dipped it into the water and proceeded to wipe her own face clean.

"Come to think of it, you do remind me a little of the pompous fellow you were when they exiled you here."

The Doctor thought of his third body and shrugged. "It's the hair. Maybe I should grow it out a bit."

He unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and rolled them up, leaning down to scoop up water in his hands and give his face a thorough wash.

"We were such gentlemen then." Missy sighed wistfully.

"I'm always a gentleman." He retorted and reached over blindly to snatch his wash cloth back from her.

"Never a lady." She noted, glancing at her fingernails. 

"Well, you seem to be finding it quite enjoyable." He mumbled into the cloth. "Maybe I'll give it a go one of these days."

When he opened his eyes again a moment later he found her removing the pins from her hair. How long had it taken her, he wondered, to learn how to get all of it into that immaculate updo?  
When all the pins were gone she tilted her head back and shook it out. It fell around her shoulders in large curls, and he was momentarily amazed by the length and volume of it. Missy cast him an intrigued look through the mirror and he realised he had been watching her for a significant length of time.

"Are _you_ finding it enjoyable, Doctor?"

The Doctor surprised them both and did not look away, nor brusquely rebuff her suggestive comment as per usual. Instead, he held her gaze with a hint of sincere fondness.

"I think it suits you."

He had his doubts that the Mistress was capable of blushing, but the impish smile she gave him might have been the closest she would ever come.

"Doesn't it just?" She ran her fingers from her cheek down to her throat, lifting up her chin. "You wouldn't think so, would you. You should see how fragile it looks underneath all this. Like porcelain."

The Doctor, unlike the Mistress, was capable of blushing and quickly found himself staring at his feet for no good reason. "I'll take your word for it."

His socks were still damp from the snow, as were his trousers. While he began to contemplate changing out of them in a casual, dignified manner, Missy said something that took him off guard.

"One of the last things I remember before I regenerated is wanting to die."

He looked up at her.

"The drums had stopped." She was pensively gazing at her own reflection in the mirror. "I suppose the signal had fulfilled its purpose, or perhaps it was Rassilon's doing. I don't remember much of what happened, at first. I remember being confined, immobilised but conscious, left alone with the maddening, oppressing silence. Even if I could have run, there was nowhere to run because it was always right... here." She touched her temple lightly. "You can only scream for so long before you stop hearing the sound of your own voice."

The Doctor leaned his head against the wall and watched her from beneath sullen brows, listening.

"So I awaited it." She continued, almost matter-of-factly. "The end. I thought we would all die, any moment now, in your inferno."

He lowered his eyes. Time had been rewritten, but he knew that every Time Lord in existence - wherever they may be - knew what he had done (and undone).  
What he had proved to be capable of doing.

"But it never came." She frowned. "And after a while I started to lose my grip on reality. Time felt... all weird around the edges. Constricting."

"Stasis." The Doctor said quietly.

Missy drew a deep breath and began to arrange her hair into a plait as she spoke. "Yes, thank you. I know that _now_. I didn't know it then. I didn't know anything then. My body was slowly unravelling... it was the slowest death I've ever experienced. I wasn't a priority for the council. They had left me to rot while they decided what should be done with me. I think they were hoping there might be nothing left by the time they got around to me."

One of the handful of candles illuminating the room gave its last flicker and went out, deepening the twilight around them.

"When they finally remembered me, I cursed them for it. Just like I cursed them when they had given me my life back, only to make me fight their war. And for what this time? To ensure I survived and suffered what they had sentenced me to?" She finished the plait and flicked it over her shoulder. "I refused. I refused to regenerate, I fought it. I was not their puppet any longer and I wished you would hurry up and end us all. Until..." She smiled faintly. "Until I finally understood that you had found a way. And Gallifrey was not going to burn." She took a moment to remove the brooch from her collar and placed it next to the hair pins, running her fingertips over it. “And you know what, Doctor? I decided to live. Not because they wanted me to. But because of you."

There was a vulnerable sincerity in her words.

"There you were, so alive, breaking cosmic rules and rewriting them at your will. The Doctor, more magnificent than ever. Destroyer _and_ saviour of Gallifrey. How could I fight for my own death while you fought time itself and won? How could I let you be the only one who dared?"

She turned to look at him and he became intensely aware of their closeness, not only measured in physical proximity. Her ice-blue eyes, brimful of time and space, regarded him with a familiarity only she, in all of creation, was capable of.

"I told you. You saved me."

The words lingered between them for a long moment while neither averted their eyes nor spoke.

"I'm sorry." The Doctor said finally.

Missy gave a dry chuckle. "For saving me?"

"No." He shook his head. "For everything else."

She sighed. “My dear Doctor. You're _always_ sorry. And rarely when it matters.”

"I don't know how we ended up like this." He said softly.

It was one of those fragile moments when the gulf that had grown between them for countless centuries was bridged, and they looked upon each other as two opposite parts of one whole.

"Nor I."

There was an instinctual desire in him to close the physical distance, too. And so he reached out and took her hand. It seemed like a natural thing to do. Her delicate hand, cool and smooth in his, and she looked at him the way she had in the graveyard. A mixture of longing and regret. For a brief moment, he wondered what would happen if he called her by her true name.  
No, he thought, he could not. It would hurt too much.

They glanced down at their hands and watched their fingers entwine. And why not?

Every part of him was gradually giving in and accepting that some things would never change. He knew that she had come to the same conclusion. Or perhaps she had always known. They were a constant in time and space that refused to be altered.

Missy closed the gap between them, reached up, and cupped his neck, pulling his forehead to hers. An intimate gesture, in their culture. Suddenly the shape of her mind was clear, bright and tantalising in his and he saw her loneliness and her desire and knew she felt his, too. It caused them both to shudder.

"Missy-" He whispered, holding on to her hand for dear life because if he let go...

"Hush." Her voice was low and silky, and not at all like, but yet not unlike, the oldest one. That is, the youngest one. The face he still saw when he dreamt of home and belonging.

He let go. Of her hand, at first. He let go of her hand and cradled her face. Then, she pulled him down to her and kissed him, and he let go of himself, too.

He had not kissed in this body before. And that was a lie. He had kissed _her_. But not like this. Not the insatiable, desperate way they were kissing now.  
She pressed herself against him while his hands hovered awkwardly for some time before they settled on her waist. Her hands slid under his waistcoat and it fell to the floor as they stumbled across the room until he collided with the bed and dropped down onto it. Then she was on his lap, aggressively unbuttoning his shirt.

It dawned on him that she was not going to stop.

He broke the kiss and opened his eyes. The room swam into focus, and the reality of his current situation knotted his stomach. But it soon became meaningless again when Missy dove in to taste his neck, all tongue and teeth and hunger.

Surely, it was much too late now, his mind insisted through the haze of emotion and pleasure. The time when this could have changed something or meant something – it was so long gone that entire civilizations had risen and fallen, wars had begun and ended, worlds had died and been born.

"Doctor." She raised her head and he met her eyes and saw they were glistening. Come to think of it, it was entirely possible that his were, too.

Could it really have been so long?

It hurt.

It hurt almost too much to bear, because it _was_ too late and they both knew it. Many, many lifetimes too late. There was no redemption in this, no reconciliation and certainly no happy ending.  
It was only another way of hurting one another, in the end.

But even if the end was pain and mutual destruction, the beginning felt like...

"Doctor..." She repeated, barely a whisper, as she lowered her forehead to his again. Her mind embraced his, as exhilarating and painfully familiar as the scent of her skin, and right now it was filled with an emotion that resonated strongly in him.

It almost felt like...

He drew a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Their noses brushed as their lips met again, gently and delicately this time.

Love.

And _oh._

He was tired.

So tired of doing the right thing.

The universe was not at stake tonight.

He took her face into his hands and deepened the kiss.  
Neither of them were wont to do things by halves. If he was going to do this, it would be willingly and deliberately.

Missy purred against his lips, delighted with his new-found determination. She relieved him of his shirt and pushed him down onto the bed. The cold sheets below him were an interesting contrast to the warmth of her body. Gallifreyan warmth, not the scorching, sweltering temperature of humans which he had become so accustomed to. He longed for more of it, more of her, and began to unbutton her blouse, exploring the newly exposed skin with his lips. It wasn't enough.  
The intricate nature of her clothing was an unwelcome hindrance in their current endeavor but before long, her outer layers had joined his on the floor. The Doctor found himself faced with a corset.

"Why must you wear such complicated things?" He groaned. "This is almost as bad as our old ceremonial robes."

Missy chuckled and leaned down to do wonderful things to his ear with her tongue.

"Oh, but you always looked magnificent in them."

He sighed, partly in response to what she was doing and partly at the memory of heavy, unnecessarily grand garb. "I hated them."

"I know. Your grouchy face was the best part." She slid her hand down between their bodies, fingers tightening on the bulge in his trousers and causing him to push into her touch involuntarily. "I lie." He could hear the smirk in her voice. "Getting them off you was the best part."

"Speaking of..." He breathed, running his hands over the front of her corset and tracing the soft skin just above the edge. "Some help, please?"

Missy sat up, revealing that it was fastened with metallic clasps a few centuries more advanced than one might expect to see on an early 20th century garment. There was a scorch mark and an indentation where the bullet had hit - bullet proof, of course. He had guessed as much. She reached around the back and activated a mechanism. At once, the clasps opened and the corset fell away.

"Oh." The Doctor breathed, equally impressed with the mechanics and her naked form, although his eyes were immediately drawn to the vicious bruise radiating out from the centre of her chest. Clearly, the corset had protected her from the impact of the bullet but not its force. "Missy." He whispered, glancing up at her and back down at the dark purple mark. "I'm so sorry, that looks-"

"It's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Doctor. Will you shut up or shall I be forced to gag you?"

He was fairly sure that she was not joking and chose to heed the warning. Instead, he pulled her to him and lost himself in the scent and feel of her bare skin. It was an intoxication of the senses. There was undoubtedly a bio-chemical element to it, a sensible part of his mind pointed out. Biology, genetic compatibility; then again, they were beings evolved far beyond the need to succumb to their primal urges, so to say nature was to blame would have been a blatant and outrageous lie. It had never been as simple as that.  
The sensible part of his mind knew that, too, and fell silent.

His hands found her wrists and he rolled her over, trapping her body underneath his and her arms above her head. She allowed it, which was almost as surprising as it was exciting. He kissed her lips, her face, her neck, indulgently, and found her soft and yielding in his embrace.  
In truth, he would have expected no less of a fight from the Master in this intimate setting than he would in any other encounter. Had it not always been thus?

No, he thought, not _always_. It was bitter-sweet how much this harkened back to the old days before they had begun to fight so viciously and had loved as reverently as only youth could.

Missy whimpered. His mouth had found her breasts and he released her arms in favour of the same, dedicating his attention to these new, delightful features. Lovely as they were, it made so little difference, overall. The way this body arched in response to his touch and the way he delighted in her pleasure were just the same.  
One of his hands slid across her stomach and inside her undergarments. She purred her approval and grabbed a fistful of his hair as his fingers commenced their exploration. When he found the sweet spot and just the right amount of pressure her hips bucked, demanding more, and he gladly obliged, raising his head up to taste her lips again. When he pulled away, her eyes fluttered open and she caught sight of the captivated smile on his face, before he proceeded to kiss his way back down her neck. 

"Enjoying yourself?" She murmured between little sounds of delight which sent shivers down his spine.

"What gave it away?" He replied hoarsely and caught her nipple between his teeth while his fingers penetrated into the inviting heat of her body. Oh, how he craved that heat.

Missy moaned. Her fingertips touched his temple and a dizzying wave of her pleasure washed over him as though it were his own. It was enough to make him grind against her thigh wantonly, moaning with desire and frustration at the layers of cloth still separating them.  
As if she had read his mind – well, there was a chance he had thought rather loudly – one of her hands reached for his belt buckle.

"Off." She demanded. "Now."

He was certainly not going to argue, although reluctant to abandon his efforts. She rolled him over. The initial tenderness had subsided and been replaced with a desperate need. They tore at each other's remaining clothes between ravenous kisses. Until, at last, they were naked. Lying side by side, limbs entangled and hands greedily seeking out every curve and crevice of the other's body.

“I missed you.” He whispered into her hair, pulling her as close to himself as physical reality would allow.

“Liar.” She replied, and kissed him as if he meant it anyway.

When their lips separated she was on top of him, straddling him, and _oh_...

Missy drew a shuddering breath and gripped the sheets while his head rolled back, an involuntary whimper escaping his lips.

"Different, this." She breathed, eyes heavy-lidded and jaw slack as she rocked her hips slowly.

"Mm-hm." He just about managed to get out, fingers digging into her hips and eyes shut. "'s good."

"Good?" She questioned, with a certain distaste for the word, and began to move in earnest.

"Ah..." He matched her rhythm, hands reaching for her waist, her breasts. "Amazing, perfect... all the words." He panted, and she gave a low chuckle, but he was quite frankly past the point of caring what rolled off his tongue as long as she kept on.  
Doing.  
This.

This was it, he thought. He had lost his mind and he didn't care. She was his paradise, all the home he had been searching for and she was death and destruction and still he _didn't care_ because she was what he wanted and deserved.

"Look at me."

The Doctor opened his eyes. Her hair had come almost completely undone again and hung around her face in loose strands. There was a faint smile on her lips and her cheeks were flushed. When had the room stopped being so cold? And when had she become so beautiful?

"Say my name." She whispered.

"Mistress." He moaned readily, and she purred like a contented cat, an expression of triumph and ecstasy on her face.

_'You win.'_

_'I know.'_

If this was losing, he never wanted to win again. Time slowed down and he relinquished himself to the feel of her body and the way she moved. Fast and relentless, and slow and teasing, leaving him on the verge one moment, and aching for more the next. Until he could barely take it. But still it wasn't enough.  
He pulled her down into a breathless kiss and rolled her over, grabbing her thigh with one hand and the back of her neck with the other. Their foreheads collided with a soft thud and they both gasped as they felt the other's senses keenly. He was no longer gentle and she reciprocated in kind, nails raking over his back leaving red welts. Her legs wrapped around his hips as they shared the heady mixture of pain and pleasure and relished it. Temple to temple, pulses racing, moans muffled against each other's skin. Until the lines blurred and heir minds were a cosmic storm of shared sensations and memories, indistinguishable in origin. Until the pale sheets beneath them turned to red grass and the centuries fell away as time spiraled back on itself.  
Until it was enough.

They fell together. Or at least it felt like falling.

He sealed her lips with his before either of them could cry out, in all likelihood waking the humans in the next room. Her nails dug into his shoulders as if they meant to draw blood, and for a moment, the universe did not exist around them anymore.

\- - -

There were thirteen words for 'love' in the Gallifreyan language.

Considering there were almost two dozen words related to 'time' and the passage of it, and half a dozen different ways to say 'sky', this was not particularly excessive.

The meanings covered such things as the love or appreciation of an act, an event, in a temporally permanent or impermanent state, an object, associated or disassociated from oneself, love for a living thing, a family member, a friend, a spouse and several distinctive ways to profess one's admiration or love for another person in line with both parties' status and level of familiarity.

There was one ancient word, however, which was reserved for very rare, chosen moments. In its meaning, it combined loyal friendship, romantic love, the notion of being bound by fate, a sense of belonging akin to family, and timelessness.

This idea of a fateful forever-love was a relic of the past and mainly persisted among rural Gallifreyans. It was scoffed at by most Time Lords, who considered themselves above such sentimentalities, and delighted in lecturing younger Time Lords and Ladies on the folly of overly romanticised pair bonding.

When Theta and Koschei were almost officially Time Lords, but not quite, and their time at the Academy was coming to an end, they once got into an argument so vicious that it resulted in neither speaking to the other. This was by no means a first. They were, after all, both very stubborn. But they were not equally patient.  
Usually, Koschei would give in first, even if it was in the form of a scathing remark that somehow still managed to carry a hint of affection. To which Theta would reply with an apology heavily veiled in mockery. Yet, by the next day, they would be thick as thieves again.

This time was different. Days passed, and Koschei would not budge. Two weeks passed, and Theta became scared. Really, truly, unreasonably frightened to the point of panic that he had lost the person who had been dearest to him throughout most of his still very young life.

So the night before the graduation ceremony he found and cornered his friend, away from the crowds. Fists clenched and trembling with emotion, he had every intention to shout 'Talk to me, you damned fool!' in his face. And instead it came out: “Please,” and: “I _love_ you.”

Koschei dropped the stack of data slices he had been carrying under his arm and embraced him so fervently he almost knocked him off his feet.

They didn't let go of each other for some time, and when they did, Koschei wiped his eyes on his sleeve and said: “You're ridiculous.”, and it sounded like: 'Me too'.

\- - -

Her fingers lazily tangled in his hair, still damp with sweat.

His head lay on her shoulder as he gently ran his fingers over the bruised skin in the centre of her chest.

"You've always liked me better when I'm hurt." She observed.

The Doctor closed his eyes, turning his face into the hollow between her neck and her shoulder. "I like to heal."

His hand stilled over the bruise. Missy sensed a familiar tingle. Just a hint of regeneration energy, radiating from his palm, accelerating the healing process. She felt a pang of emotion, a terrifying vulnerability that immediately turned to anger.

"No." She pulled his hand away. "Don't you dare, I'm not one of your humans."

Slipping out of his embrace, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "You do know how to ruin a moment."

He caught her wrist before she could stand.

"Mistress." He whispered. It made her shiver. “Mistress...” He repeated, and sat up behind her, leaning against her exposed back, chin on her shoulder. Her hand relaxed a little in his.

"Stop trying to fix me." She said, less aggressively. "I don't want you to. I don't want your benevolent kindness, Doctor, your pity-"

"I don't pity you." He said, eyes closed and face buried in her hair. The next thing he said was barely a whisper. "I care about you."

Missy snorted derisively and tilted her head sideways, exposing her neck to his lips. "You care about every living thing in the universe. And about me only when it suits you."

There was a silence. She could feel his breath on her shoulder. He nuzzled her skin. "You're wrong."

She brought a hand up to the side of his face and turned to look at him. "I could be.” Their lips found each other again, but Missy pulled away before the kiss could become more than a fleeting caress. “But it matters very little, in the grand scheme of things."

With that she pulled away and stood up, picking her blouse up off the floor. The Doctor sighed and let himself fall back onto the bed.

"I don't understand you." He watched her throw on the blouse and then retrieve the rest of her clothes from the floor, organising them neatly on the arm chair instead. "What do you want from me?"

Missy paused, skirt in hand, her back turned. "I want my friend back.” She said simply and glanced over her shoulder. “The one who was like me."

For a long moment, he stared at her with a thoughtful frown. Then he sighed and rubbed the corners of his tired eyes. "I can't give you that.” There was a pause before he added: “You weren't always _this_."

She dropped her stockings onto the armchair and spun around, resentment in her eyes. "It was you who made me this!”

He opened his eyes and gaped at her. “What?”

“If you hadn't left-” She said, and cut herself off, averting her eyes. "No. Of course you don't get all the credit. Far be it from me to stroke your over-inflated ego. But you made a choice when you left. And you didn't choose me. You didn't so much as bother to _tell_ me. Have you any idea what that was like?"

The Doctor propped himself up on one elbow, genuinely stunned by her words. "We- We weren't exactly chummy at the time. The last time I saw you before I left Gallifrey you told me never to set foot in your house again."

"Because you wouldn't listen!" She hissed.

"I wouldn't agree," He retorted. "there's a difference."

"So you left."

"Well, I didn't think you'd want to see me again, nevermind come with me!"

Missy raised her eyebrows. "You really didn't think I would care that you were leaving the planet _forever_?"

"No! I don't know.” He sat up, running his hands over his face. “I didn't know then that it would be forever. I just wanted to keep everyone safe."

"And look how well that turned out.” She mocked disdainfully. “When will you ever understand how much destruction your saviour complex wreaks?"

Anger flared in his eyes. “No more than your delusions of grandeur!”

“Well, I don't pretend otherwise, do I!” Missy exclaimed, flashing him a dangerous smile. “I'm not holier-than-thou, Time Lord victorious, self-proclaimed saviour of the universe. Remind me, how many worlds, at this point in time, worship and fear you like an almighty god? I'm afraid I've lost count. Don't you dare tell me about delusions of grandeur.”

He drew a breath to respond with something equally biting, but faltered as her words sank in. In truth, he knew she was not wrong. Had he not committed just as many atrocities as the Master, and did it truly make any difference what his reasons had been? Had his time spent with humans, wide-eyed naïve wonderful humans, really turned him into a self-titled guardian of all creation whose only modus operandi was that he was right above all and entitled to be judge and jury?  
He shrugged his shoulders helplessly and said the only thing he knew to be true: “I'm so tired of fighting."

Missy's expression softened. She crossed over to the bed and perched down beside him. "Then join me.” She urged him softly and her eyes shone. “Doctor... we could own the universe and nobody could stop us."

The Doctor smiled sadly. "I told you. I don't want to own the universe. That was always just you."

She tilted her head and returned his rueful smile. It would always come down to this, in the end. He lay back and lifted the covers, a silent invitation, and a momentary peace offering. 

"Fine." She sighed and climbed back into bed beside him. One of his arms enveloped her, drew her closer and she rested her head on his chest. _One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four._ “I'll conquer it myself. As always."

"I'll stop you." He informed her quietly and kissed the top of her head. "As always."

“I thought you were tired of fighting me."

"Someone has to.” His fingers stroked her shoulder lightly. “Maybe you'll get tired of destruction eventually.”

Missy chuckled.

“Maybe you'll stop being such a sanctimonious killjoy.” She retorted, without bile, and kissed his jaw. He turned his head and kissed her on the lips. They looked at each other for a long moment. The last candle in the room flickered and died, leaving them in darkness except for the glow of the parlour stove.  
Somehow, the idea of sleeping beside each other seemed far more intimate than everything that had gone before and he found himself unsure whether to even suggest it. But before he had made up his mind regarding the matter, Missy patted his cheek, kissed the tip of his nose, and rolled over. He blinked, staring at the back of her head in the dark.

“Just don't hog the duvet.” She mumbled through a yawn. “Although I probably will.”

He exhaled slowly and scooted in close, placing one arm around her. The wind had abated outside. The night was calm and quiet. Wood crackled on the fire, and the faint sound of her breathing was soothing. Maybe, just for a fraction of time, they could be at peace. Even if only for one night. The Doctor closed his eyes and finally, after many weeks, fell into a deep, sound sleep.

When he awoke, light was falling through the cracks in the window shutters.

The Mistress was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really tried to toe the line here between a fairly explicit sex scene and keeping the tone of the story thus far. I hope I succeeded. If you have thoughts... share them. I'd be interested to know.


	11. Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is a useless, tireless curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for how long this took. Been busy. This is honestly more of an exploration of the Master's past and her relationship with the Doctor than anything else, but it needed to happen before current events can advance. I know I said this last time but I promise, I really do, that things are going to become much clearer very soon. In the meantime, I give you the joy of guessing just what the hell is actually going on.

"I am the Master."

 

~*~

 

Most humans were firm believers in the omnipotent and transformative nature of love. Naturally; their lives were short and their experience of it so limited. They believed love to be the opposite of hate, and that in its presence hate could not exist.

But love was not so one-dimensional, nor so grand.

It was a pointless thing. It altered nothing, in the end, and its power lay only in its refusal to bow to time.

\- - -

There was a time on the Valiant, not long into the year that never was, when planet Earth was truly conquered.  
Humanity had been decimated.

And the Master was bored.

Bored of watching Jack die in agony and come back to life.  
Bored of playing games with Lucy and her dull, human mind.  
Bored of watching cities crumble and bored of torturing the living.

Most of all, he was bored of the Doctor. The useless Doctor, apathetic and frail, trapped in an artificially aged body. Sure, it had been amusing at first, having his old rival so completely at his mercy. Incapacitated, humiliated.  
But therein lay the problem. The Doctor was _too_ helpless. There was not enough satisfaction in this, not in the long run. In any case, it was doing little to alleviate the rage he felt which had prevailed ever since he had realised what had happened to Gallifrey. Ever since he had regained his memories of the Time War.  
The unrelenting drumbeat in his mind only exacerbated it.

Turning away from the window - a view of clouds and smoke, fire beneath it all somewhere, eating up one of the humans' larger cities on a southern continent - the Master hopped up onto the railing and slid down to the lower level of the Valiant's conference room.

Right now it was all but abandoned, safe for two security guards at the door, himself, and his most treasured prisoner. Track 113 was blaring through the speaker system. The singer was wailing lyrics about supermassive black holes accompanied by guitar riffs, little though humans knew about them in this century. But it had a strong beat which complimented the drums well and that was good.

The Master's feet hit the ground and, with a skid and a graceful spin, he propelled himself into a chair. Oh, but he did enjoy this body and its youthful agility. He could see why the Doctor had chosen, at their age, to remain so perversely young. _Well..._  
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the wheelchair facing one of the porthole windows. The slumped figure sitting in it had not moved since he had placed him there hours ago. A front row seat to watch the world burn.

He sighed dramatically and pushed himself off from the conference table with his feet. The expensive leather chair rolled across the room and bumped into the wall next to the window, bringing it side to side with the wheelchair.

"You look pitiful." The Master sniffed, a look of disgust on his face. He straightened his tie and pursed his lips, rolling his head from one shoulder to the other, clicking the vertebrae in his neck. So much pent up anger/energy/frustration and nowhere to put it.

"I could reverse the process, you know. I have been considering it." This was no lie. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the laser screwdriver, casually tossing it up into the air and catching it again. "Such a supple, young body. So _virile._ " He lowered his voice and tilted his head, glancing over at the old man in the wheelchair with a wicked smile. "We could have some fun, you and I. Just like the good old days. What do you say, Doctor?"

"Don't be disgusting." The Doctor deigned to reply. The Master's grin widened, delighted that he had managed to provoke a reaction. Naturally, he dug deeper.

"Now, now." It had been a while since they'd had a good chat. Or a good fight. He preferred the latter, these days, but would settle for the former. "Don't pretend you're above such things, _Lord_ Doctor. You and your Earth girls..." He lifted an eyebrow, twirling the screwdriver between his fingers before slipping it back into the safety of his pocket. "And boys." He tapped his index finger against his lips thoughtfully. "Isn't the good Captain a welcome sight for sore eyes? I saw the way he looks at you. I wonder, is it mutual?"

"I tend to make sure it is." The Doctor said flatly, not answering his question. "I don't make a habit of beating my lovers into submission."

Somewhere else on the Valiant, Lucy Saxon was staring into a mirror, an array of make-up in front of her, gingerly covering up her bruises. The ones that were visible. The Master threw his head back and laughed. It petered out into a growl, and he swiveled in his chair, placing his foot on the side of the wheelchair and turning it to face him. They locked eyes, brown on brown, matching pairs of cold fire and cruel disdain.

"I could do unspeakable things to you."

"What's stopping you?"

The Master rose from his chair, grabbing a hold of the wheelchair's armrests and leaning in close to the other's face. "Don't make me angry." He warned, licking his lips. It sounded like a challenge. "How many people do you want to see die today? Hm?"

The Doctor didn't answer. Instead, he kept looking at him, not with fear or hatred, but with something else. It wasn't right. It wasn't what the Master wanted. It was _infuriating_. He narrowed his eyes and tried to pinpoint exactly what he was seeing, until it hit him.

It was pity.

"What?" He snapped, and rolled the wheelchair backwards until it hit a wall, his fingers digging into the armrests. "What do you want to say, Doctor? Come on, don't be shy now, spit it out!"

The answer came after a beat, simple and piercing. "This isn't you."

The Master grimaced and pulled himself up to his full height, speading out his arms as he looked around the vast room. Ruler of this world, master of all. "This was _always_ me!"

"No." The Doctor said quietly, turning back to the row of windows along the wall, not interested in the theatrics. "I know you. We were not so different once."

At that, the Master raised his eyebrows curiously.

"And we still aren't." He rounded the wheelchair and took the handles, wheeling it away from the wall and across the room while he leaned in close and spoke into the Doctor's ear. "The Oncoming Storm. Destroyer of worlds. _Murderer._ The difference between you and me, Doctor, is that I don't lie about what I am." He parked the chair in front of the table and sat up on it, leaning back to survey his age old friend and enemy. "The Time Lords are gone. We are gods now. Almighty, merciless to those who dare cross us. But you... you, my dear Doctor... I applaud you." He tilted his head back and announced it to the ceiling in their native tongue: "Warlord of Gallifey!"

His voice echoed in the empty room.

When he looked down again, his prisoner had lowered his eyes, old frail hands twitching slightly in his lap. "I had no choice." He said weakly.

The Master smiled a crooked smile. "Oh, but you did." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and fingers crossed under his chin. " _I_ had no choice. They _forced_ me to live. Live and fight and die, and die, and fight and think and destroy." He spat resentfully, and his eyes narrowed. "They brought me back to be their ultimate weapon. Who could have guessed it would turn out to be you? Nobody forced your hand, Doctor. You decided you had the _right_ to end billions of lives, the innocent along with the guilty. What was it _like_ when they all burned, did you hear their screams in your head?"

"Stop." The Doctor squirmed in his chair as though trying to escape the words, unable to glaze over the emotions they stirred up with indifference. It was so very gratifying to behold.

"You destroyed our planet!" The Master growled, and jumped off the table, reaching down to grab a fistful of the old man's shirt and tie and pulling him up to his feet. "You sentenced them all to extinction and though it _good_. Now it's my turn." He hissed in his face, forcing him to look him in the eye. "Doctor. I haven't even started."

Track 115 was playing. _'The love we share seems to go nowhere...'_ Marilyn Manson croaked and the Master took a deep breath and scrunched up his nose. "Ugh. You stink like death."

He threw the Doctor back into the chair, where he collapsed like a rag doll, and sauntered off.

Later that week, the Master made sure his prisoner had an impeccable view when he annihilated the islands of Japan.  
The Doctor did not speak another word for months.

\- - -

One one. Two two. Three three. Four four.

\- - -

She was barely three days in her new body when she was brought before the Lord President after her previous self had attempted to murder him.

The colours were too bright, the air too rich. Her body's centre of gravity had shifted, and she stumbled once or twice, dragged onwards by the guards who accompanied her. It had been so long since she had left her cell that the outside world seemed like a mirage, at first. From the transporter to corridors that went on forever, lifts, more corridors, and another lift that seemed to rise indefinitely.  
She knew where she was being taken.

"I'm afraid I'm not dressed for the occasion." She remarked, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the windows leading up to the presidential suit. It was the first time she saw herself. Her pale skin and the once white, now greying, prison uniform were a stark contrast to the crimson and orange that surrounded her.

They entered the presidential suite; velvet and gold. The guards firmly holding her in place; red metal armour, even now so scared of her that she could sense their discomfort.

Rassilon trained his ancient gaze on her, one arm behind his back and his great gilded staff in the other, heavy robes swaying regally around him as he approached. A picture of a celestial, wise leader of people. A flawless disguise for the ruthless, power-hungry monster inside.

"My Lady-" He addressed her formally, and it sounded like mockery.

"Mistress." She heard herself say, and it sounded good. It sounded right.

"My Lady Mistress," Rassilon raised his chin, looking down his nose at her, undisguised animosity in his eyes. "I see you have at last accepted the gift of life we have so generously bestowed on you once more."

"Your generosity knows no bounds, Lord President." The Mistress responded, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Rassilon the Resurrected pursed his lips and raised his left hand. The gauntlet shone, cold metal coursing with a deadly charge. "I could have annihilated you after your attempt on my life." He informed her, flexing his fingers. "There is not a single soul on Gallifrey who would object to your destruction. But I was merciful."

The Mistress burst out laughing. Rassilon narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring.

"I believe one ought to bow before their saviour." He hissed, striking the ground with his staff, and turned to the guards: "Make her kneel!"

The guards did as they were told. Rassilon stared down at her for a long moment. Even on her knees, restrained in deadlocked steel and manhandled, she had an air of subdued defiance.  
That would change, he thought, in time.  
It had before.

He paced over to one of the circular windows, turning his back to her.

"Know your enemy." He said, gazing out over the Capitol. The luminous city shone under the stars of an unnatural sky. Imprisoned in time. "You are alive because you are useful, but you know that, of course. I admit that we have underestimated you in the past. It won't happen again. This time we shall know precisely what we are dealing with to ensure your absolute co-operation."

She glowered at him silently, and he turned around. "Oh, don't tell me. You refuse to serve me, to do anything we ask of you. Is that so?" A derisive smile twisted his lip as he crossed back over to stand in front of her. "Everyone has their price. I will learn yours. All I need are your memories. Your every weakness. Every regret."

"I only have one."

"And what is that?"

The Mistress raised a thin eyebrow and smiled slyly.

"Failing to kill you."

The furious expression on his face was worth it. Or what little she saw of it, before the ornate staff whizzed through the air and collided with the side of her head so forcefully that her vision went black. 

"Prepare the mind probe!" She heard him shout to the guards - over the dizzying pain and the ringing in her ears - before she lost consciousness altogether.

\- - -

In the end, love persisted and insisted upon itself.

\- - -

The Mistress inhaled the stale, dusty air.  
It was not yet morning, but after a few hours sleep the ache in her rib cage was negligible. The Doctor's arm was still around her. Neither of them had moved. A Time Lord's sleep was efficient and restorative, not chaotic like a human's. The night was silent and she could hear the faint sound of their hearts beating, almost in sync.

One one. Two two. Three three. Four Four.

\- - -

At night, the Valiant was eerily peaceful, hanging in the sky like an impenetrable fortress. The Doctor was not sleeping. He had taken to meditation most nights, and tonight was no exception. Hearing his captor approach, he braced himself for the inevitable and it came as expected.

The Master barged in, wearing slippers and a morning gown, hair standing on end and eyes manic and glistening.

"Doctor! DOCTOR!"

He reached into the tent and grabbed the Doctor's arm, dragging him forth and throwing him to the ground. His aged body ached and complained, but he sat up carefully, slowly raising his eyes up to the madman before him.

"Speak to me." The madman uttered, staring down at him as if he did not entirely comprehend how either of them had come to be here. Until now, the Master had put up a flawless front, giving the impression that it bothered him not a jot whether the Doctor ever spoke again. Tonight, something was different. 

He dropped down to his knees, his jaw slack and his gaze pleading, and took the Doctor by the shoulders.

"Please?" He whispered, looking genuinely distraught.

The Doctor looked back at him with a mixture of pity and indifference and said nothing.  
Pleading turned to anger in a matter of seconds. The Master bared his teeth and grabbed the fabric of his shirt.

"You will speak to me!" He roared, pressing the fingertips of his free hand against his temple. "I COMMAND YOU!"

The Doctor could feel the other's mind reaching out aggressively, trying to batter its way into his own. But the more he demanded, the less he would receive. He fortified his defenses and cast his thoughts back to the most tranquil and pleasant memories he possessed;  
Climbing a tree barefoot behind his family home, orange spice-scented blossoms between the silver leaves.  
Soft yellow moss, perpetual summer on Tponi 4, young Sarah Jane placing a flower chain on his head.  
The hum of the TARDIS.

Sensing that he was getting nowhere, the Master made an outraged, frustrated noise and wrapped his fingers around his prisoner's throat instead, squeezing tight enough to bruise. The Doctor closed his eyes.

A punt on a river, Romanadvoratrelundar.  
The scent of the grass at the Eye of Orion.  
Susan's smile.

He was shaken furiously and finally released, managing to prop himself up on one elbow to keep from falling over backwards. The Master retreated and got to his feet, watching the wizened old Doctor cough and gasp for air.

"Look at you..." He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it. "Look what you made me do! Please, Doctor, please..." The anger subsided as quickly as it had come, giving way to despair. The Doctor looked up at him, wishing he could hate what he saw but not finding it in his hearts to feel anything but profound sadness at what had become of his friend-turned-foe.

"I can't bear it, the drums, the drums, the drums..." The Master muttered, rubbing his head furiously as though it might make the sound inside it subside. Then he crouched down by the Doctor's side again, holding trembling fingers to his temple. The Doctor flinched, expecting another assault, but it didn't come. "Listen." The Master begged. " _Listen._ Say something. Don't you hear it?"

'I wish I did', the Doctor thought, privately, and remained silent.

Suddenly, the Master threw his head back and burst into laughter, guttural and joyless. "Am I losing my mind?" He demanded to know of the room, arms open wide as he cast his eyes up to the high ceiling. His voice bounced off the walls and left a ringing silence. The laughter faded into a whimper and he drew the Doctor into a bizarre embrace, lowering his head onto his shoulder.

"Say something. Theta, please."

The Doctor swallowed and didn't move. Nobody had uttered that name in a very, very long time, least of all the man hanging on to him now as though he might drown if he let go.

"Theta... my dear Theta."

It took all of the Doctor's resolve not to respond. Day after day on the Valiant had been spent convincing himself that the person he had once known was gone. Had been gone for many centuries, slipped into madness bit by bit until there was no turning back. Could it be that he was mistaken?

"I'm begging you, let me speak with you tonight." The Master was rambling in Gallifreyan, breathlessly, face pressed into the Doctor's shoulder. "Something is happening to me, it's coming for me. It's been coming for me all my lives and it's close now, I can feel it. The drums are coming for me, Doctor, and I'm _not crazy_. I'm scared. Won't you say something?"

He raised up his head and met the Doctor's eyes. Seconds dragged like minutes. The Doctor was on the verge of speaking when the Master's expression hardened and turned cold.

"Fine." He hissed, letting go of him and scrambling to his feet. "You're nothing! You are _nothing_ to me, do you hear me!" He wiped his face on his sleeve and licked his lips, glaring at the Doctor contemptuously. "I'm getting bored of this, I'm _this close_ to being done with you, and when I am...! When I am, I will kill you with my own bare hands and it will be a _delight_ to finally watch you die! Doctor!"

The Doctor sat perfectly still, holding the other's gaze, impassive and serene aside from the sheen of tears clouding his eyes. Gone, he reminded himself. Dead. Mad.

The sound of a dying star.  
The dry smell of ancient wood and dust in the old barn out in the Drylands.  
His children's laughter.

The Master growled with rage, like a bloodthirsty animal, and whipped out his laser screwdriver, pointing it squarely at the other's chest. For a moment, he stood perfectly still. Tense like a bow, eyes furious and nostrils flaring. The device began to tremble in his hand and he gripped it tighter. The Doctor watched his knuckles turn white.  
Then, he dropped his arm abruptly and closed his eyes. His whole body seemed to give a shudder. When he opened his eyes again, the fury was gone. As a matter of fact, so was any trace of emotion. Calmly, almost mechanically, the Master pocketed the laser screwdriver, turned on his heel and marched out through the double doors.

The next day, Lucy was sporting a cluster of bruises on her face no amount of make-up could cover. The Master did not attempt to speak to the Doctor again for some time.

\- - -

One one. Two two. Three three. Four four.

\- - -

She marveled, at first, how they could possibly think that a mind probe was a match for her mental abilities. It was not.

All her lives had been spent building an impenetrable fortress around her mind and to tear it down would be no mean feat.

Her hair was cut off, because it was messy and it got in the way of aligning the contraption with her skull. Because it was irrelevant, and she was irrelevant outside of the function she was yet to fulfil for the Council.

She broke the first probe after a day.

Rassilon was not too happy about it. Or perhaps he had anticipated it.  
Perhaps it had always been his intention to exhaust her first, before the process truly began.

Even mental barriers as outstanding and well-honed as the Master's depended on focus and a certain clarity of mind.

Nothing broke focus like pain.  
Pain was a terrific tool.  
It was easy to inflict pain. Slightly more challenging to inflict enough of it while keeping the subject conscious.  
This was necessary as it was much more difficult to accurately glean the contents of an unconscious mind while the subconscious interfered.

There were clean and effective ways to cause pain. Directly through the nervous system.  
Permanent damage probable depending on duration of exposure.

Good results.

There were also far more brutish ways to cause pain, which Rassilon did not shy away from, for he had first walked the world a long time ago when the Time Lords had been a very different people, and he carried in him still, besides all his ingenuity, that blood lust of old.

The slow removal of a nail from the nail bed was a very effective stimulant.  
Right hand, left hand.  
No permanent damage.

Excellent results.

She may have been proud, but she was not heroic. Had they wanted her to talk, she would have done so long before then. But all that was required of her was complete and unhindered access to her mind. Many centuries ago, before the war, before they had dragged the devil from his resting place to lead them into battle, it would have been considered an unspeakable, unthinkable violation. She could not give herself up like that of her own free will even when it became clear that she was fighting a losing a battle.

It was no mean feat to penetrate the Master's mental barriers.

But it was not impossible.

When the mind probe finally tore into her consciousness it proceeded to drag forth her entire life, splayed out like a myriad of data slides scattered on the ground, the things she had lived and never wanted to remember together with those she treasured which were hers, so privately hers. Memories all but forgotten of her childhood - memories of a Gallifrey she had once deeply loved - such knowledge of the universe - darkness, and victory, and destruction - her family, oh... her _family_ \- and a great deal of death.

And the Doctor.

The Doctor.

Through all the centuries, like a red thread; the Doctor, who was in a different universe and did not know, and could not see, and would have never come for her anyway.

\- - -

The fire in the parlour stove had burned down to faintly glowing embers.  
The Mistress lay completely still for some time, tentatively allowing herself to _feel_.

The way she had when the world was still new to her. When emotions ran deep and had meaning.

She was not young now, except in the eyes of the ancient and immortal.

She was a diamond now. A white-point star. Cut, sharpened and polished to glistening perfection by the centuries. Shining with cold indifference in the face of an uncaring universe and all it had brought forth. The very indifference she had once despised about the Time Lords.

The irony was not lost on her.

And yet, lying beside her best enemy and oldest friend - or was it the other way around? Did it matter anymore? - she was _not_ indifferent.

_'Two hearts...'_

_'And both of them yours.'_

After all this time.

After all.

\- - -

After they were done with her, she was returned to her cell and left unrestrained for the first time since the start of her imprisonment.

Perhaps she was considered less of a danger now. 'Like a de-clawed cat', the Mistress thought to herself, cradling her bloodied hands, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Until she wept.

\- - -

One one. Two two. Three three. Four four.

It was time to go.

\- - -

The second time the Mistress was brought before the Lord President, she was dressed for the occasion.

It had been many months (or none at all, or several centuries - relatively speaking - that was the trouble with existence in a parallel universe suspended in temporal stasis; time passed and it didn't, it was nauseating). Her nails had grown back and her hair hung down to her shoulders. The clothes, although they were nothing as elaborate as her status deserved, weighed heavily on her. It had been such a long time since she had been dressed like a person.

"Ah, Lady Mistress. We are all gathered here today to propose a bargain." Rassilon said, back turned to her, overlooking the large conference table. There the entire High Council sat, watching the scene unfold expectantly. The Mistress slowly surveyed them one by one. She knew most, if not all. But none of them would meet her eye. "And I think you will find it very compelling."

He turned, leaning on his staff. There was something in his other hand, she thought, by the way he held it. She glanced at it, reluctantly listening as he continued.

"First, however, you shall hear our terms."

"No." She said plainly. He ignored her.

"As I am sure you are by now aware, Gallifrey is in an imperfect temporal stasis which poses a threat to our continued existence. It is without question that our world must be restored to its original location. This has been a priority for some time, progress has been made. But we would, how shall I say," Rassilon glanced in the direction of the Council. "appreciate your input. Despite your countless shortcomings, you do remain a useful resource and an asset to our collective of scientific minds."

"No." The Mistress repeated.

The Lord President slowly descended the handful of steps to the level where she stood. "I thought that might be your answer."

She held his gaze as he approached and stretched out his closed fist, turned it over. "Perhaps this will change your mind."

He opened his hand and the Mistress glanced down. Her eyebrows rose up ever so slightly, despite her best efforts to remain unresponsive. The apathy left her eyes.

"Where," She said slowly. "did you get this."

Rassilon smiled perniciously. It was a stupid question, of course. A very stupid question to ask of the person who had forcefully accessed her memories. She knew where he had got it. The same place where she had left it, such a very long time ago. The thought of it turned her stomach.

"Here is our offer to you." Rassilon said as he lifted up the brooch, studying it with mild interest. "You assist with the restoration of Gallifrey to its original universe, and in exchange, we will restore your child to you."

There was a moment of silence. Some of the Lords and Ladies at the conference table exchanged looks. The Mistress could all but hear their hushed telepathic chattering. Their minds. All that _noise_. The colours were too vibrant, the air too rich. She swallowed the rising feeling of nausea.

"You must take me for an idiot." She stated, a steely expression on her face, wanting nothing more than to claw the brooch out of Rassilon's filthy metal-clad hand and snap his neck in two. "My daughter died far too young. No record in the Matrix. No means of resurrection."

Rassilon lowered his hand, turning the brooch over in his fingers. "It has never been attempted, I grant you. But it isn't impossible. In theory, as long as the Council permits it, which we _are_ willing to do, it is quite feasible." He pursed his lips and watched understanding dawn on her face as he continued. "That is, if we were out of stasis and the extraction chambers were once again operational."

"Extraction..." The Mistress murmured, her gaze distant. "Extract her a fraction before her death, upload her to the Matrix... It would kill her. It would kill her. Oh, but... oh, yes, of course. That's the only way. Kill her and place her back dead, just before she died, a hiccup in time but not enough to cause a tear but it means killing her all over again." She lifted her shackled hands to her face, shaking her head. The cuffs rattled. "No. No, no. No..." 

"Only so that she may live." Rassilon added gravely, holding out the brooch to her. The Mistress stilled and stared at it.

"And then what? Lord President?" She met his eyes. "You don't expect me to believe that you would set me free to be with her. Me!" She burst out laughing and looked up at the table, addressing the High Council. "Instead of, oh, here's a marvellous idea! Holding her hostage to have me at your mercy for the rest of eternity. I _don't_ think so."

This time the muttering at the table was very much voiced and not solely telepathic. Rassilon lifted one hand, casting a look back over his shoulder. The members of the Council fell silent.

"With all due respect, my Lady Mistress." He sighed, turning back to his prisoner. "While you certainly have your uses, I think you overestimate our desire to have you in our midst. You are not a credit to the Time Lord race. Your very presence here is considered a perpetual and serious threat to Gallifrey and its people."

"You flatter me."

"We _want_ you gone." Rassilon concluded simply. "Never to return here, under any circumstances, unless thus required by the Council. If you accept our offer, you will both be exiled. You will furthermore adhere to the law of non-interference."

The brooch lay in the palm of his hand, ancient and unchanged and innocent. Against her better judgement, she took it and her chest heaved.

"Will I?" She inquired, running her thumb over the soft features carved into it.

"Perhaps not." Rassilon shrugged. "That entirely depends on whether you wish to be the cause of your daughter's demise once again."

\- - -

Missy dressed quietly while the Doctor slept. She wondered how long he must have gone without a proper rest to pass out like this. And how much good faith he had to allow himself to do so in her company, when only the night before last he would not entertain the idea. Oh, Doctor. So predictably willing to trust, so easily swayed by emotion.

She wanted to gloat, but found little satisfaction in it for once.

When her hair was as much in place as it could be, considering she had no comb to hand, she reached into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved the vortex manipulator. 'Operational' - it flashed in pale blue when she tapped the screen.

Missy nodded to herself, pocketed the device as she cast one last glance at the sleeping form on the bed, and silently left the room.

\- - -

Gallifrey hung in the ever expanding sky, once more in its rightful place - if not time - while the ancient universe slowly decayed around it.

The Mistress tilted her head, brows furrowed. Looking back through time at an image of your own life was like looking at a dream. Except it was real, and the little girl drawing her last breath was real, and her young self - pale and sweat-bathed and mad with horror and despair - was real. Had been real. Would always be real.

"I have a small caveat to add to our agreement." Rassilon said quietly, standing behind her in the blindingly white extraction chamber while she stared at the familiar sight of her home, or what had once been her home, at the exact moment her only child had died.

"What?" She breathed as the technicians performed minuscule adjustments to the incision in time. The time slice flickered.

"The Doctor." Rassilon's voice sounded in her head, far too intimate for her liking. "You will return the Doctor to Gallifrey. And we will return her to you. Until then, she will be ours."

"Why me? Anybody could-"

"Nobody better than you."

The Mistress smiled bitterly. "Like a lamb to the slaughter."

"He will have a hero's welcome."

"And a war criminal's execution."

There was silence. The connection was fully established. The Mistress stepped forward even as her daughter's eyes turned towards the light.

"Bring us the Doctor." Rassilon's voice droned in her mind.

"Will you let him live?"

"Will you let her die now that you can save her?"

The girl stretched out her hand.

Love.

It was a pointless, tireless curse.

\- - -

There was a small, narrow entrance hallway that separated the bedroom from the living room. Missy closed the door behind her and exhaled, leaning against it. Her hand slid into her pocket, fingers tracing the edges of the vortex manipulator.

There had been a plan. Once. But as always, when things involved the Doctor, everything had gone rather unpredictably wrong. 

No matter. Turning a situation to her advantage was one of her strong points.

Missy pulled out the vortex manipulator and began to set the coordinates. Glancing over her shoulder, she took a few steps away from the door. The discharge of temporal energy might rouse him, there was no need to be quite so careless. The rotting floor boards gave a groan under her feet and she glared down at them, trying to take her weight off the spot. It was no use, the entire floor in the hallway was an old, creaky nightmare. The Mistress tutted quietly and hurriedly finished entering the coordinates, secured the vortex manipulator to her wrist-

Just then, the living room door opened.

"What are you doing?"

Large, brown eyes peered at her from the shadows, innocent and curious. Missy quickly lifted a finger to her lips. Masha blinked and took this as an invitation to step into the corridor, leaning the door shut behind her.

"I could ask you the same thing." Missy whispered, raising an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be sleeping, poppet?"

The girl shrugged. "I woke up. Papa's snoring. This house smells funny." She rubbed one eye and frowned. "Where are you going, Missy?"

Missy surveyed the girl and took a second or two to deliberate. Most human children were as easy to read as a picture book. This one was no exception. Her little face radiated trust. There was a great deal of underlying fear and anxiety, but it wasn't directed at her. Quite the opposite, the Mistress noted, this child was afraid of her leaving because she considered herself safer in her presence. Interesting. Useful, perhaps?  
An idea manifested itself in her mind, unlikely at first, but on second thought rather brilliantly simple. She broke into a slow smile and leaned down, placing one hand on Masha's shoulder.

"We're friends, aren't we, my dear Maria Alexeyeva?" She winked.

Masha smiled and nodded with enthusiasm, amused and positively proud to be addressed like a proper young lady.

"Well then. It's a bit of a secret." The Mistress made a show of glancing around surreptitiously and leaned in closer. "I'm going on an adventure. And, come to think of it, I really could use some help."

"I can help!"

"Shh."

The girl clapped a hand over her mouth and glanced back at the door. "Please can I come? I'll help you..." Then she faltered. "But what about Papa?"

Missy waved her hand dismissively. "He won't even notice, dear. We'll be back in a tick. Like magic."

"Like magic?" Masha repeated, eyes wide with amazement.

"Well, if you're into that sort of thing."

The Mistress straightened and extended her hand. The vortex manipulator on her wrist shone in the dark.  
Masha Alexeyeva Sharapova smiled with the delight of every child ever at the promise of wonder and adventure.

The flash of blue illuminated the hallway for a split second, and was gone. Alexei Ivanovich snored. The Doctor stirred.


End file.
